


love is waiting til we're ready

by tattooedsiren



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dating, Deputy Stiles, Developing Relationship, M/M, No pun intended, abstaining!Derek, and Derek may or may not be able to hold out, derek returns to beacon hills, diner worker Derek, he isn't 16, he's just working through some things and has taken sex out of the equation, healthy Derek, not having sex with Stiles is really hard, there are no purity rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooedsiren/pseuds/tattooedsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek passes the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign the weight that had lifted three years ago resettles on his shoulders as if it was never gone.<br/>Scott had asked him to come back, promising that things were different now. He spoke in a rushed out breath about how much safer the town was compared to when he left. And when Derek asked why, if that was the case, the town needed him at all, Scott had replied with, “Because there are still people here that I care about, and if I can’t protect them then I want to know that someone I trust will be here to.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is waiting til we're ready

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't be possible without two wonderful people: [Inell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell) and [smartalli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/smartalli/pseuds/smartalli). Inell really encouraged me to write this after I told her this very random idea I got after watching, of all things, The Amazing Race, and has been a great help and cheerleader. And Alli was a fabulous beta and a reassuring friend when I inevitably started to overthink everything I was doing.
> 
> Title comes from Love is Waiting by Brooke Fraser.
> 
> **ETA: Can't believe I even need to say this, but don't put my fics on goodreads. If I find out this has happened again I'll need to consider locking my fics.**

When Derek passes the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign the weight that had lifted three years ago resettles on his shoulders as if it was never gone.

He takes a deep breath, hands tight on the wheel as he keeps driving. It’s going to be different this time. It has to be. He’s a different person now, and as much as he loves this town there was a not insignificant part of him that wanted to say no when Scott called, to tell him he was sorry but he’d found a life of his own and he couldn’t put the progress he’d made in danger by returning. But he didn’t. Scott asked him to come back and he said yes, because his family had lived and died here, because of Erica and Boyd, and for everyone still fighting the good fight and all the innocents who deserved to stay that way.

Scott promised things were different now. He spoke in a rushed out breath about how much safer the town was now that the Nemeton was turned off, now that the Sheriff and Jordan could use their positions to help, now that Deaton had picked a side.

And when Derek asked why, if that was the case, the town needed him at all Scott had replied with, “Because there are still people here that I care about, and if I can’t protect them then I want to know that someone I trust will be here to.”

Derek had thought of the Sheriff, who had sought Derek’s help and treated him as an equal, as someone worthwhile. He had thought of Melissa, who had always been kinder to him than he deserved. And if Scott was finally leaving for college, finally joining Stiles and Kira and Lydia and Liam scattered around the country, two years later but better than never, then Derek knew he couldn’t leave John and Melissa and the rest of the town unprotected. So he packed up his small house - he might’ve spent the last few years working some shit out but he still couldn’t bring himself to fill his life with tangible things that could go up in flames in the blink of an eye - and drove the two days back to Beacon Hills.

 

 

*

 

 

Derek could’ve been able to leave and return after two decades and the town would still be nothing but familiar. There’s the grocery store his mom liked to shop at. There’s the diner Laura liked to hang out at with her friends. There’s the intersection where Derek - only two months into learning how to drive - broke down because his dad had forgotten to fill up the tank before they went out. There’s the motel Kate took him to the first time…

Derek quickly shifts his eyes back to the road, staring straight ahead as though his life depended on it. Which in some ways it did. Coming back here he knew he’d have just as many bad memories as good - probably more, to be honest - and he knew he had to figure out how to deal with them in a way that wasn’t simply ignoring them. He’d done that for too long, and it hadn’t helped. But still, coping mechanisms will be for later. Today he just has to cross the hurdle of coming back to town, and he can worry about the rest of it tomorrow.

He pulls into the parking lot beside his favorite coffee shop and wanders in. Now this is a place full of good memories. He remembers the first time he came here, just after it opened for the day, five o’clock in the morning and still dark out. He, Scott and Stiles had been up for nearly two days straight, researching and then negotiating with a particularly stubborn witch, and finally done Stiles demanded coffee right the fuck now. And when Derek had admitted he’d never had the stuff, Stiles, despite being delirious with Adderall and a general lack of sleep, still managed to flail so largely he knocked Derek’s shoulder hard enough to supposedly hurt his wrist. Derek had rolled his eyes at Stiles’ claim that his arm was now broken and his life was ruined and just stalked off towards the car. They’d all piled in and come here, collapsing in a corner booth with the largest possible coffee in front of each of them, not even talking, just sitting together in self satisfied silence at a job well done.

It had become a kind of tradition after that - Stiles had termed it their _cup of conquest caffeine_ \- and Derek can’t remember how many days and nights he’d spent here with various members of the McCall pack (the idea of being in a pack that wasn’t made up of bite or blood ties still rankled, so Scott called him an honorary member and left it at that). So yes, the town isn’t full of only bad memories, and walking to the counter and placing his order feels like deja vu in the best possible way.

Coffee cup in hand he heads back outside, mentally debating which way to drive to the house he’s renting (he’s had his building remodeled, but after everything that happened he can’t bring himself to go back there, so he’d jumped online and found something suitable before making the drive back). He’s so lost in thought he’s halfway to his car before he catches the all too familiar scent.

 _Stiles_.

Stiles is here, leaning against Derek’s car. His posture is slouched, all casual nonchalance, but Derek knows better now than he did when they first met. He can see the tensed muscles, knows how Stiles looks when he’s trying to appear calm when he’s really not. But beyond that Derek can’t think, because Stiles is _here_. Didn’t Scott say Stiles was away at college? Derek could’ve sworn that’s what he said.

Derek takes the final steps and because apparently returning to Beacon Hills has regressed him, he grits out a, “What are you doing here?”

“Seriously?” Stiles replies. He sounds angry. “You disappear without a word for _three years_ and turn up without telling anyone you were coming back, and you ask what _I’m_ doing here?”

“I thought you were at college.”

“Well,” Stiles waves an arm in the general direction of his body. “I’m not. Clearly.”

Derek takes in a deep breath, makes a tentative step forward. “How did you know it was me?”

And Stiles actually laughs at that. Derek didn’t realize until this moment how much he’d missed it. “Your car. How many days and nights did I spend bleeding in your back seat or following the car in my jeep? You really think I’m gonna forget this ol’ thing?”

“I guess not,” Derek says, smiling softly. He tries not to think about it too much, but there was a time when his life was so intricately intertwined with the people here. He’s forgotten what that’s like. “It’s good to see you,” Derek tries, voice tentative. Because it is. He certainly wasn’t expecting it, but Stiles is a familiar and comforting face in a place that Derek is still anxious about returning to. “You look good.”

Stiles looks confused by the compliment, like he doesn’t understand the impetus behind it but is certain that there must be one. He can’t fathom Derek complimenting him with no ulterior motive.

“Are you here to stay?” Stiles asks.

“Yes,” Derek replies, the word somehow hurting as it escapes his throat.

Stiles nods. “We should talk. Uh-” he looks around, obviously trying to figure out where they should go, but Derek just gets the keys out of his pocket and clicks the fob, unlocking the car.

“Get in,” Derek says, and Stiles nods, walking around to the passenger side and climbing in. Derek pauses, hand on the handle of the car, and takes a deep breath before opening the door and sliding in.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s awkward. They sit there in silence, facing forward, looking at the bland view before them: a sea of cars and a brick wall with a few tags in white paint. Derek remembers when his cousin got busted graffiting this wall. He wonders if every corner of Beacon Hills will assault him with a different memory or if maybe - _finally_ \- this time he’ll be able to move on and create new ones.

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asks, his voice small. Derek glances over and Stiles is looking down at his hands, which are twisting in his lap.

“Scott.”

Stiles’ eyes snap up at that.

“He told me he was leaving, going to college. He wanted an Alpha here to protect the town while he was gone. I was the next best thing.”

The joke lands flat and Derek hates himself for trying, for trying to make this something that it isn’t. Coming back here wasn’t easy, and it’s no joking matter. He left for a reason. But, he supposes, he came back for a reason too. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do this, how he’s going to remain the new person he’s managed to become while living in the town that gave him all the trauma in the first place, but he knows he has to try. He owes that to himself. No matter what, he won’t let this town ruin him again. He can’t.

He has no idea how he’ll do that yet, but he should probably start by leaving the jokes to Stiles.

“He always was overprotective,” Stiles says with a small smile. “We would’ve been fine without you.”

A feeling Derek can’t name curls in his chest. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Stiles says urgently, actually reaching out and grasping Derek’s arm as though he’s worried Derek will physically get up and leave right this moment. “No, that’s not - I didn’t - sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. My brain is still catching up.”

Derek nods, tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He’d never been more grateful that Stiles was human so he couldn’t hear it. “He said that the town was doing better, that your dad and Jordan have been a massive help, and Deaton has finally manned up. He didn’t say it but I think he just wanted a werewolf to take his place in the boyband of supernatural entities protecting the town.”

Stiles laughs then, open and free. “New Derek’s got jokes. I like it.”

Derek shrugs, head ducked away, hoping Stiles won’t see the corners of his mouth quirking up. What? Stiles will always be the funniest person he knows. Who wouldn’t feel a little pleased when Stiles complimented their humor?

“What about you, Stiles?” At Stiles’ furrowed brow Derek elaborates with, “Aren’t you away at college.”

“Dude, you missed sooo much while you were away,” he chuckles. “I didn't go to college. I went to the police academy instead. I’ve been working for Dad for nearly six months now. I’m still just a rookie, the lowly deputy who gets all the noise complaints and coffee run duties. But you know me ... keeping busy, sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted.”

Derek hadn’t expected this. He’d agreed to come back here because he thought he’d be alone, with nothing but passing acquaintances with John and Melissa to remind him of those few briefs years where he went from being totally alone, to having not one but two packs. He wasn’t anticipating Stiles being here, but then again, when it comes to Stiles, that’s just par for the course. You should never anticipate anything, because as soon as you do, he’ll do the opposite.

Derek presses back into the seat, turns his head to look at Stiles. “So, you’re here then.”

And Stiles does the same, smiling as he says, “Yeah, I’m still here.”

“And you’re careful, right?” Derek can’t help but ask. Intellectually he knows that it’s been three years but he still remembers Stiles running head first into every situation, uncaring of his own safety, and he’s worried. It might be selfish, but he can’t come back here just to see Stiles get hurt - or even worse, killed - just because he felt the need to save someone who may or may not even deserve it.

“Yeah,” he replies softly. “I’m careful. Promise.”

Derek knows there are other things they should be talking about, but neither of them says a word, they just sit there and look at each other. He normally doesn't like people's gazes on him for this long, thinks anyone staring this intently either wants something he can’t give or is someone who means him harm. But he doesn’t feel either of these things with Stiles. He likes drinking Stiles in, this person who is familiar and new all at once.

The moment is broken by the piercing sound of Stiles’ cell phone. Derek looks away, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter, hands on the steering wheel as though he wants to escape the situation before it can get any stranger. Stiles mutters an apology and answers the call.

“Hey daddy-o, what’s up? Am I busy? I’m …” Derek can feel Stiles steal a glance at him, but he keeps his eyes forward, “catching up with an old friend. Uh huh. Okay. Okay see you there.” Stiles lets out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, duty calls.”

“Not a problem.”

“But … we should keep talking. I’d like to - I mean do you -” Stiles rubs at the back of his neck, glancing away from Derek and asking, “Would you go to dinner with me tomorrow?”

Derek really wants to hide in his house and pretend like he isn’t back here, back in the town where Kate and Jennifer found him, but he knows it’s no use. And besides, if he’s going to be here to help out, he should probably catch up with Stiles on what’s happened the last few years. It’s the smart thing to do. “Sure.”

“DiCaprios? Eight o'clock?”

Derek nods. “See you then.”

Stiles gets out of the car but before he closes the door he puts his head back in and says, “It’s good to see you too, Derek.”

 

 

*

 

 

Derek makes a stop at the supermarket before heading to the house. It’s charming in a small town kind of way, and he unpacks what few belongings he brought with him. The movers should be here before nightfall. He really wants to go for a run, stretch his weary legs after two days of travelling, but he doesn’t want to miss them either, so instead he settles into a corner of the living room with a book and waits.

It takes a couple of hours, but finally they arrive. He gets the house set up with little trouble. It looks empty, his too few possessions sparse in the house which is really much larger than he needs, but he refuses to linger on the thought. Instead he busies himself making dinner and then goes for a run. He pounds the pavement, exploring his new neighborhood, feeling revived with the clean air he inhales into his lungs.

The next morning he goes to see Deaton. Unlike Stiles Deaton doesn’t seem surprised to see him. He makes Derek wait, because he’s a bastard like that, before letting him into his office.

“You’re back,” Deaton says neutrally.

“I’m back.”

“For good?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“For as long as I’m needed,” Derek replies. Deaton isn’t the only one who can be evasive when he wants to.

“Okay. Well, you know where I am if you need me.”

It’s Derek’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That’s it? No lectures about leaving, no vague comments about what’s happened in my absence?”

“Oh, I’m sure there are others more than qualified to let you know what has happened while you’ve been gone. I’ll leave it to them to fill you in.”

So Deaton’s still an enigmatic ass. Derek doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

His next stop is the Sheriff’s department. He enters the building, a weird anxiety in his chest that he knows is Stiles related, but he can’t work out if he’s nervous about seeing Stiles or worried that he’ll miss him. At any rate when he walks in the first person he sees is Jordan Parrish, who smiles warmly at Derek and reaches out to shake his hand.

“Good to see you, Derek,” Jordan says warmly.

“You too,” he replies sincerely, smiling around the words.

“Stiles isn’t here if that’s who you were after.”

Derek practically chokes on air. It isn’t dignified and somehow it seems to do nothing but delight Jordan. “No,” Derek says, coughing slightly, “I’m here to see the Sheriff if he’s around.”

“Absolutely. Come on back.”

The sheriff’s station is full of memories too. He hears a voice in his head like a tour guide: _if you look to your left you’ll see where the Kanima attacked, and on your right you’ll find the desk where two young siblings sat as their lives crashed down around them..._ Derek resolutely looks ahead.

Jordan opens the office door and announces Derek before smiling at him and leaving them alone. John rises from his chair and he doesn’t seem surprised to see Derek either.

“Derek Hale,” John says, coming out from around the desk. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Derek happily shakes his hand. “You too. How are you?”

“Fine,” John replies dismissively, indicating for Derek to sit. “So, Scott tells me you’re back to keep us safe.”

Derek laughs at that. “I’m pretty sure you know how to keep yourselves safe. I’m just here as an extra pair of hands. Whenever you need. Call me.”

“I just might take you up on that.”

“Please do. I want to help you in any way I can.”

John nods. “So, are you here just to say hello or is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually there is,” Derek says, shifting forward in his seat slightly. “I was wondering … in your line of work you must know of some good therapists in the area. I was hoping you could recommend someone to me.”

“Is that so?”

“I was seeing someone back-” Derek realizes he’s going to say _home_ but stops himself before the word escapes, “east, but she didn’t have any contacts in this area. I remembered when I was here, after … well, you gave Laura a card for someone. I was hoping you could help.”

John just looks at him for a moment, face neutral, before he reaches over and opens his desk drawer, pulling out a card. He stands, and Derek does too. He hands over the card, and as Derek takes it John says, “I’m proud of you.”

Derek flushes under the praise. There’s still that corner of his brain saying that he doesn’t deserve it, but that voice is the exact reason he started going to therapy in the first place. Three years ago it was a voice constantly screaming in his head, but now it’s just a small whisper. It was, as Dr Desmond constantly reminded him, progress.

“Thank you,” Derek murmurs, and he smiles in farewell turning to leave.

“Have fun at dinner tonight,” John calls, and when Derek turns back John is grinning. “I’m sure you and Stiles will have a great time.”

Derek’s confused by John’s enthusiasm, but nevertheless he nods and waves and walks away.

 

 

*

 

 

Derek arrives at the restaurant early but Stiles is even earlier. The waitress leads him to the table and Stiles stands in greeting, smiling at him. He looks good, in a blue button down and dark jeans, and Derek still can’t reconcile the man before him with the seventeen year old he knew. It’s not that he’s changed in any drastic way - three years is a while but not _that_ long - but he seems more settled, more confident in his own skin.

“Hey man,” Stiles says, smiling, and Derek feels himself returning it.

“Hi.”

They sit down at the table, and Derek can’t help but notice Stiles thrumming his hands on the table. “You okay?”

“Huh?” Stiles looks confused by the question, until Derek nods at his hand. Stiles slides it under the table. “Yeah, fine.”

Derek nods and lets it go. He grabs a menu. “So what’s good here?”

“Dude, the menu hasn’t changed in ten years, what do you normally get?”

“Actually I haven’t been here before.”

It was one of the reasons Derek was happy to meet Stiles here. No memories to plague him the moment he stepped foot in the door. It wasn’t like he’d intentionally avoided the place while he lived here, he just ... never got around to it. Stiles meanwhile is looking at him like such a notion is sacrilegious, and he says, “The calzones are amazing.”

Derek skims the menu but nothing else seems as appealing, so he folds the menu back up, decided. Stiles has his menu open still but he’s not looking at it. He’s staring at Derek, and Derek lets him for a moment before he feels too scrutinized under the gaze and he says, “Uh, Stiles, you’re staring.”

“Sorry,” Stiles says, shaking himself free of thought. “It’s just, I still can’t believe you’re here.”

Derek knows what he means, but decides to mess with Stiles a bit and asks, smiling, “Here in Beacon Hills or here having a civil meal with you?”

Stiles laughs. “Both.”

A waiter appears and they place their orders. Once alone, Derek knows Stiles is going to ask where Derek has been all this time, and to put off the inevitable he says, “So, deputy Stiles, huh?”

Stiles smiles shyly. “Yeah.”

“You did always like to say that you took after your pops.”

Stiles laughs. “In more ways than one.”

“So tell me about the academy.”

And Stiles does. He’s never really needed an excuse to talk his head off and he flourishes under Derek’s undivided attention. Stiles tells him all about it, about the trainers who both adored and hated him (“why are all physical education instructors such dicks?”), about his roommate (“Mark was probably the smartest guy I’ve ever met and if he wasn’t such a sweet person I’d probably strangle him”), about the pranks he may or may not have pulled on the faculty (“it was for their own benefit, if they’re training future cops they need to be kept on their toes”). Stiles graduated in the top three of his class and really could’ve gone anywhere but he came back here.

“It’s home, you know. No matter what bad shit has gone down here, it will always be home.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees softly, “I get that.”

And Stiles’ returning expression, so soft and understanding, feels like a shock to his heart.

“Okay Derek,” Stiles says as their plates are cleared away. “Your turn. Where have you been for the last three years?”

Derek takes a sip of his drink, one final delaying tactic that only works for a few seconds. “Colorado.”

Stiles looks confused. “Why Colorado?”

Derek shrugs. “Why not?” Truthfully when he left he got in his car and drove and that’s where he ended up. There wasn't much forethought involved. He just knew he had to get away from Beacon Hills.

“What was it like there?”

“Different,” Derek smiles. Stiles tentatively returns it. “It was quiet. I found a nice place just near Estes Park-”

“The Shining town?”

Derek laughs. Figures Stiles would know that. “Yeah. Anyway, I found a place to live, got a job.”

Stiles waves a hand like he wants Derek to continue, and when Derek doesn’t he asks, “That’s it?”

Not really, but he really doesn’t think Stiles wants to hear what else Derek did there. That he started sleeping around but ended up hating himself for it. That he found a therapist, a good one, who he saw twice a week for over two years. That he’s been working on getting better, at dealing with the damage people like Kate and Jennifer left in him, trying to forgive himself for what happened to Paige and his family and his betas. That he’s made a promise to himself that most people wouldn’t understand and probably even mock him for but it works for him and Derek has learned that sometimes he needs to put himself first and do what works for him. So Derek says, “Yeah, that’s it.”

 

 

*

 

 

After dessert they walk out into the parking lot. Their cars are only two spaces apart, so they head in the same direction, arms brushing against each other with every step. Stiles had given him a very brief rundown of what had been going on while he was away, and while he didn’t hear any lies Derek could tell he also wasn’t getting the whole truth. Stiles was leaving some things out, but he figured Stiles had his reasons, and if it was important for Derek to know in order to protect the town he would’ve told him, so he didn’t press for more detail.

“So you never really said,” Derek asks when they approach their cars, “how did you keep things under control?”

“Blood, sweat, and tears.”

Derek laughs, but Stiles doesn’t. He looks serious about it. “That’s just a saying, isn’t it?”

“Nope, it was literal blood, sweat, tears. Some kind of protection spell Deaton concocted. It doesn’t keep everything out, but it certainly helps.”

“Okay,” Derek nods, surprised. “Good to know.”

“So where are you staying?” Stiles asks.

“A place on Evergreen.”

“Do you like it?”

It’s too big and empty, but Derek says, “Yeah, I do. What about you?”

“Still at Dad’s. I know, I know, it’s super lame, but I’m saving for a place, I just haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Well at least if I need you I’ll know where to find you,” Derek laughs.

Stiles grins. “True. It’ll be just like old times. I’ll come home to find you brooding in my bedroom.”

“I can climb in your window in the middle of the night and hope your dad doesn’t hear me.”

Stiles’ hand brushes his as he steps closer. “You can climb through my window any time.”

Derek doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late, until Stiles is shifting forward, and Derek panics. Unfortunately in this case his panic presents as him freezing, and then Derek feels Stiles lips on his. It wakes up him, and Derek steps back, hands up in a placating gesture. “Stiles-”

“I thought this was-”

“This isn’t a good idea.”

Stiles’ brow furrows. “ _This isn’t a good idea_ ,” he repeats, like saying the words will help him understand them.

“I just got back, and there are things - things you don’t know. I think we need to stay friends.”

“Friends,” Stiles repeats numbly.

“Please, Stiles. I want to be your friend.” Because if he’s come back here and managed to destroy a friendship with one of the few people in this town he cares about in less than 48 hours he doesn’t know how he’ll cope staying. He needs Stiles, he needs his friendship as he resettles himself in Beacon Hills. If he’s fucked his up already he might just have to leave, promise to Scott be damned.

“Sure,” Stiles says. “Friends.”

 

 

*

 

 

Derek doesn’t need to work, but when he started seeing Dr Desmond back in Colorado she suggested it would be good for him. He needed to be out in the world, meeting people, engaged with society, not hiding himself away. It went against his nature, the need to hide and protect himself, but he had supposed his nature had become twisted by the things that happened to him and so maybe going against his instincts was what he needed. So he’d found a job at a restaurant and it turned out he was really good at it. He was a jack of all trades: waiter, host, cleaner, sometimes helping out in the kitchen, dealing with deliveries, managing stock, anything and everything really. And not only was he good at it, he kinda loved it. He had friendly coworkers and great regulars and it was worth pushing against his instincts. It was good for him.

So now he’s here he needs to find something to do, because being back in Beacon Hills feels like being stalked by the shadows of the past and it would be so easy to give in to the temptation to regress to his old self. But he wants more for himself now. He’s proud of himself for the progress he’s made, and he actually likes the new person he’s become. He doesn’t want to jeopardize that.

It takes about a week but he finds a job. Of course the diner that wants to hire him is on the same street as the Sheriff's station, so he sees Stiles and John and Jordan on a near daily basis. But that’s okay. It means he gets Jordan’s companionable conversation, John’s fatherly friendship, and Stiles barging into the diner berating Derek for allowing John curly fries and threatening him with something incredibly graphic - that Derek still can’t believe he said in public - if he didn’t cut John off. (He then proceeded to order curly fries for himself, because that was just Stiles down to a tee.)

Derek goes to meet with the therapist John recommended. His name is Dr Luke Davey and he seems nice. Derek hates having to rehash his whole history to someone, especially in a way that makes some kind of sense to someone not in the supernatural know (Paige dying in his arms due to an accident that was his fault, his teenage self sleeping with an older women who proceeded to murder his family, two of his best friends dying, being drugged and assaulted by Jennifer) but he knows the pain will be worth it in the long run. They set up weekly appointments and Derek feels good about going.

He settles into a routine pretty quickly (one of the things he learned through his time with Dr Desmond - routines are a big help). He gets up in the morning, goes for a jog before work, spends eight to fourteen hours at the diner (depending on the day), comes home for another run (again depending on the day, even he doesn’t go for a second run after a fourteen hour shift), has dinner and maybe watches tv or surfs the net for a bit before grabbing a book and going to bed. And then the same thing the next day. Throw in his therapy sessions on Mondays and grocery shopping on the weekends and that’s pretty much it.

It’s by no means boring or lonely though. Working at the diner keeps him in the center of the town’s goings on, and he meets a vast array of people. He likes it. He likes seeing faces that become more familiar, he likes the inane pleasantries people exchange.

And then there is Stiles.

Stiles, who will order a milkshake and fries for lunch and will stay until every bit of it is consumed, who will come into the diner when his shift ends and complain to Derek about his day, who will visit the diner on the weekends and not even eat, just visit Derek.

Stiles, who drags Derek off to the latest comic book movie just so they can both bitch their way through it and mock the people who leave before the credits are over.

Stiles, who Derek sees so often he feels strange if it gets to the end of the day and he hasn’t spoken to him.

Stiles, who makes Derek laugh and chases away Derek’s demons just by being himself and who makes Derek - dare he even think it? - glad to have come back.

 

 

*

 

 

Before Derek knows it he’s been back in Beacon Hills for a month.

It takes that long to have his first supernatural incident, and unsurprisingly it’s so lame that Derek and Stiles deal with it in a single afternoon. Derek would seriously question why Scott thought he needed Derek to come back at all, except then he looks at Stiles, sweaty and panting from their latest monster encounter, and Derek gets it.

“Hungry?” Derek asks.

Stiles is still catching his breath but somehow manages to grin at him. “Starved.”

Derek drives them back to his place. Stiles has been over a couple of times, but most were quick visits before they went out somewhere else. It wasn’t that he’s intentionally been keeping Stiles away, but he also couldn’t deny he’s slightly anxious having Stiles in his home because he knows how it looks to an outsider: spartan, unwelcoming. But then again, he supposes Stiles has seen him in much worse surroundings than this.

Stiles follows Derek to the kitchen, and despite his impressive deductive skills it takes until Derek has pulled several ingredients out of the fridge to realize, “You’re making me dinner?”

Derek freezes halfway between the fridge and counter, bottles of Worcestershire and soy sauce in each hand. “Uh, yeah? If that’s okay?”

Derek can hear a slight uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat. “Of course. Totally. I didn’t even know you cooked.”

Derek chuckles. “Just how did you think I was sustaining myself this whole time?” he asks, placing the bottles on the counter before heading for the pantry.

“Uh, wild woodland creatures and sheer determination? Maybe the occasional protein shake?”

Derek laughs, murmuring a soft, “Idiot,” in Stiles’ direction that is too warm to be taken seriously. Stiles just grins in return.

Derek asks Stiles how his current case is going (John finally gave him something substantial to work on, and Stiles has been throwing himself into it) as he prepares their dinner. It’s just a simple meal: marinated steaks, seasoned potatoes and vegetables. Stiles sits at the counter and talks as he watches Derek move around the kitchen, and Derek can’t help but feel something settle in him with such an act. It feels nice - it feels _normal_ \- having Stiles here like this.

When Derek is plating everything up Stiles says, “Sorry I didn’t offer to help, I was just too distracted watching you cook to be of any use.”

Derek flushes but doesn’t say anything in return.

After dinner (“Dude, where have you been hiding your culinary skills this is amazing”) they migrate to the living room and collapse on the couch. “Did you wanna watch something?”

Stiles nods. “Surprise me.”

Derek crosses the room to the drawer in the entertainment unit where his DVDs are kept. “I don’t have that many options,” he warns Stiles, because he’s never really been the lounge around at home watching movies type.

“Color me surprised,” Stiles deadpans, and when Derek glares over his shoulder Stiles just grins at him.

Derek puts on Ghostbusters, and Stiles practically flails with excitement when it starts. “Dude, this movie is one of my favorites!”

“Mine too,” Derek says as he collapses beside Stiles on the couch. They’re sitting closer than is probably socially acceptable but neither moves away.

“Do you think we’ll ever have to deal with ghosts? Man, that would be awesome.”

“God, I hope not,” Derek shudders.

“But they could tell us so many things!”

“Which we’d never be able to unhear if we didn’t like them,” Derek points out.

Stiles opens his mouth to retort but instead closes it with a sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “I see your point.”

They watch the film loudly, constantly quoting along with the characters, laughing at things before they even happen. Derek feels relaxed, safe, and more than that he feels an emotion he never thought he’d feel within the confines of Beacon Hills.

He’s honestly, truly happy.

A while into the film Stiles asks Derek about New York, saying how much he’s always wanted to go, and Derek thinks wildly, unbidden, _I want to be the one to take you there_. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised by the thought. When he was here before he’d felt a connection to Stiles that was different from everyone else, borne of mutual life-saving and snarky asides. But since he’s come back it’s different. Ever since that first dinner, which in hindsight may have actually been a date, his feelings for Stiles have changed, grown. He’s tried denial but it’s no longer a viable option, not when Stiles smiling at him like that sends his heart racing.

So Derek tells him about the apartment he and Laura shared on 78th, a tiny studio but much nicer than they could really afford (and a million times nicer than Derek thought he deserved) but an elderly druid had taken pity on the two abandoned cubs and given them a good deal. He tells Stiles about going to Times Square for the first time, how utterly insignificant he felt in the midst of so many people. He tells Stiles that he went to the Met more times than he could count, always so full of wonder by the history contained in its walls.

“When I was a kid I wanted to study history at college,” Derek admits.

Stiles nods like he somehow understands why. “It’s not too late. You could still study it.”

Derek shakes his head minutely. “I’m not that person anymore.”

Stiles furrows his brow slightly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad, just … everything that happened, I can’t just pretend like it never did. There are things that happened in my past that fundamentally changed me. But at the same time I can’t deny that the path it set me on, it’s brought good things into my life too.”

Stiles stares at him, and Derek can practically see him vibrating with nerves. “It has?” he asks, and Derek can hear the implied question as loudly as if he’d spoken the actual words.

_Am I one of those good things?_

So Derek smiles and whispers, “Yeah.”

 

 

*

 

 

When the movie finishes Stiles doesn’t move, so Derek asks, “Did you wanna watch something else?”

“I’ve got nowhere to be, and I’m on the late shift tomorrow. Unless you-”

“No, no I’m good. Let’s watch another.”

Derek takes the movie out of the player and tries to find something else to watch. He’d put on the sequel but it somehow got lost in the move, so he finds a suitable alternative and puts it in the DVD player.

Con Air has long been one of his favorite movies, and he settles back into the couch as the movie starts. Only several minutes in he can hear Stiles heartbeat start to accelerate. He knows Stiles considers spying on his heartbeat and scenting his feelings an invasion of privacy so Derek tries not to do it if he can help it, but the speed at which Stiles’ heart is beating is a cause for concern, so he turns to Stiles and asks, “Are you okay?”

Stiles nods, but otherwise his body is frozen. Derek can barely see his chest rising and falling as he breathes. He’s staring resolutely at the screen and still his heartbeat speeds up.

And that’s when the panic attack hits.

Stiles closes his eyes as he struggles for breath, and Derek panics. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, how to help. He wants to reach over and touch, to soothe away Stiles’ pain, but he knows right now that isn’t a good idea. “What’s wrong?” he asks desperately.

No answer. Stiles is still breathing heavily, his hands shaking.

Derek slides closer to Stiles on the couch, sits as close as he can without touching. “How can I help?”

After a few breaths Stiles manages to grit out, “ _Movie_.”

Derek furrows his brow in confusion but grabs at the remote at shuts off the film. Derek’s whole body is tensed as he watches Stiles, knowing there’s nothing he can do to help. He murmurs encouraging words, telling Stiles to breathe, to stay with him, and after nearly a minute, the most excruciatingly long minute Derek has ever had, Stiles reaches over and grips Derek’s knee. Derek places a hand over his, uses the touch to look for pain he can take away but he can't find any, not really. Stiles body aches in a general way, but the main problem is getting enough air and Derek can’t help with that, he can’t do anything but sit here and wait for Stiles to come back to him.

Finally Stiles opens his eyes, looks at Derek with a watery smile. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?” he asks urgently.

Stiles nods. He reaches over and touches Derek’s face, runs his fingertips down his cheek and across his jawline. “Have I told you how much I like the beard? Very mountain man of you.”

Derek has no idea what Stiles is talking about, why he’s talking about Derek’s facial hair when he just had a panic attack, but he’s more than happy to indulge him. “I’ve been thinking about trimming it.”

“Don’t you dare. I like you like this. You’re so much more real.”

“Okay, I know the beard is good but it’s not _that_ good,” Derek says, and it gets a laugh from Stiles, which was exactly what Derek was hoping for.

Derek can hear Stiles’ heart rate slowing, and he himself can finally feel the rush of blood in his veins abating. Stiles runs his fingertips across Derek’s brow, his muscles automatically relaxing under his touch. “It’s okay, Sourwolf,” he says softly, assuring. “I’m okay.”

“Will you tell me what happened? You can trust me, you know.”

Stiles smiles, dropping his hand. “Yeah, yeah I do.” He takes a deep breath, sits up slightly, turns his body to face Derek better. Derek tries to ease back, out of Stiles’ space, but a brief touch Stiles’ hand against his forearm keeps him where he is.

“I’ve never seen that movie before, I didn’t realize it started with-” Stiles looks away for a moment, and Derek can’t help but glance at the screen, confused by how a movie showing Nicolas Cage physically defending himself and his wife could lead to this. “When you were gone, things were bad. I was still dealing with what the Nogitsune did to me, the guilt I felt over Allison and everything else that happened. And then Theo showed up, and no one believed me when I said ... and then Donovan…” Stiles’ voice is wavering, clearly overcome with painful memories. “He wouldn't stop, Derek. He was trying to hurt me and then he was going to go after my dad. I tried to run. I didn’t mean to - I was just trying to slow him down and...”

Derek’s starting to put the pieces together, why the film triggered this response, and his heart breaks with it.

“I killed him, Derek.”

Derek lets out a shaky breath. Stiles looks scared, like now that Derek knows he’s going to run and Stiles wouldn’t blame him for it. But Derek’s not going anywhere, and he cups a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and squeezes. “You protected yourself and your father. There’s _nothing_ wrong with that.”

“I know. I do, it’s just … knowing it and living with it are two different things, you know?”

Derek gives him a weak smile, dropping his hand down to his lap. “Yeah, I get it.” There’s a beat of silence as they just sit there, staring each other, the weight of Stiles’ confession resting between them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek adds at last.

“Me too,” Stiles admits. “I mean, I don’t know that it would’ve prevented it from happening. A whole chain of events happened to lead to that night, and the truth is we’ll never know if things would’ve been different if you were here. But I think that if you were around you would’ve understood, better even than Dad and Scott, why I had to do it. And how it affected me.”

Derek considers his next words very carefully, knowing how vulnerable Stiles must be feeling right now. He’s been there, in that very spot, too many times to count. And he wishes he had someone for him who could tell him what Derek’s about to say, to help soothe the guilt and lift the burden Stiles no doubt carries on his shoulders.

“Stiles, I know you feel like it’s tainted you, that you can never recover from this. But I _promise you_ that you can. You’re still you. You’re an amazing, caring, brilliant man, and nothing will ever change that.”

Finally Derek can see a hint of a genuine smile. “Amazing, huh?” he asks, and Derek doesn’t tease him for the compliment fishing. He just nods solemnly.

“Yes, amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Stiles scoffs, looking away. “Maybe. But you know me, the one I want never wants me back.”

Derek feels the weight of this moment pressing on him and he just breaks. He doesn’t want to be the cause of Stiles’ unhappiness, and more than that, Stiles has been nothing but honest with him. And Derek owes Stiles the truth in return. “Maybe the problem isn’t that they don’t want you back, it’s that they think you deserve better.”

Stiles’ head snaps up at that. Like Derek said, Stiles is brilliant, and he of course picks up the implication. “Maybe I should get to decide if someone is good enough for me,” he says softly, leaning forward slightly.

Derek feels his body respond like a magnet, drawing closer to Stiles with every second. “Maybe you should.”

And then they’re kissing, a simple pressing of lips that somehow manages to send sparks flying throughout Derek’s body. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to part his lips, and Derek welcomes it, his tongue dipping into Stiles’ mouth, eager to taste. There’s a moan that comes from one of them - Derek can’t tell who - and he can feel the gentle press of Stiles’ fingertips on his cheeks. It’s all heat and slick and Derek could so easily surrender to this. But he can’t.

“Wait,” Derek says after reluctantly pulling away. He can’t in good conscience continue down this road without telling Stiles the truth. “I have to tell you something, about why I told you us dating wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Stiles looks flushed, his lips wet and plump and Derek just wants to say fuck it and keep kissing him but he keeps his resolve.“Okaaay…” Stiles says, drawing the word out in obvious confusion.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with you, it’s that I can’t … be _with_ you.”

There is a stretch of silence that goes on too long before Stiles admits, “I don’t get it.”

Derek figures there’s no way to ease into this, so he just starts talking. “With everything that happened to me - Paige, Kate, Jennifer - I’m kinda fucked up when it comes to sex and intimacy. When I left Beacon Hills, after Kate came back, I started sleeping around, but it wasn’t because I _wanted_ to, it was because it was destructive. I was punishing myself. After everything it was like that was all I was good for. All evidence to the contrary I can be self aware sometimes and I know how I look to other people - I might not necessarily agree with it, but I know that people find my face and body attractive, that the way I look gives off a certain impression - and it felt like that was all I could offer. And it was definitely all people seemed to care about. So yeah, I slept around. Until one morning a few months later when I woke up with no idea where I was and just absolutely _hating_ myself. So I found a therapist - Dr Desmond was her name - and I started seeing her twice a week. After a few months in therapy I decided: no more sex, _at all_ , not until I was married. I couldn’t trust myself or the other person so it was better to just abstain completely. I still tried dating, but funnily enough most people don’t stick around once you tell them that sex is off the table. So yeah,” Derek lets out a shaky breath, nervous and exhausted, “that’s why I told you dating wasn’t a good idea.”

Stiles just looks at him for a few moments, and Derek can practically see the cogs in his brain work as he processes everything he’s just heard. And then, because he’s Stiles, he says the last thing Derek was expecting.

“Dude, did you really think I’d care if you wanna hold off on the sex?”

Because of course with everything he just said that’s what Stiles is focusing on. And looking at Stiles now, the warmth in his expression, he realizes it’s not because he’s selfishly focusing on himself, it’s because he’s not judging Derek for the rest of it. It genuinely doesn’t matter to him that Derek fucked around, that he’s in therapy, that he’s made this decision that most people could never understand. Stiles just cares that Derek thought he’d wouldn’t be interested in him if they couldn’t have sex.

“Well like I said, most people do,” Derek says. It might not sound like much of a justification, but in this moment it’s all he’s got.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.” There’s a brief silence before Stiles asks, sounding hurt, “Did you really think it would matter to me?”

And Derek hates that Stiles feels like Derek didn’t trust him. But in his defense, he had his reasons for not telling him straight away. “You forget that I know you. I remember how sex crazy you were. So yeah, I did think it would matter to you.”

“Okay, first of all, you remember sixteen year old virgin me who was obsessed with sex because he’d never had it and seventeen year old me who was obsessed with sex because he was having it for the first time. You say you’ve grown up in the last three years? Well guess what, so have I. I _like_ you, Derek, and I respect your choices. And unlike anyone else whom you may have dated and told that you wanted to abstain, I _understand_ why you’ve made that choice. I want you to be happy and whole and I support any decision which helps you with that. And I still want to be with you, in whichever capacity you’ll let me.”

Derek can feel a trickle of hope, but old habits - despite his best efforts - are hard to break and he’s still not sure he can believe it. “Are you _sure_? Because this isn’t a whim or a phase. I’m not going to change my mind after a couple weeks of dating. I don’t want to have sex until I’m married - or engaged, at best - and even if things work out between us that is years away. Are you sure you can handle that?”

Stiles smiles, taking Derek’s hand in both of his. “Just tell me what’s okay and what’s not and we’ll be fine. For example, kissing. Is kissing okay?” he asks, grinning, and Derek doesn’t even respond, closing the gap between them and kissing Stiles.

“Will you go out on a date with me?” Stiles asks against his lips.

“Yes,” Derek grins.

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles sends Derek text messages all day long.

_T minus 10 hours_

_8 hours until first date v2.0_

_7 hours until first date ii_

_5 hours until first date redux_

_3 hours until first date: the reckoning_

Derek laughs at that but sends back _Okay I’m going to stop you right there. The reckoning? Seriously?_

Stiles just sends back a smiley emoji and Derek rolls his eyes and puts the phone away. He doesn’t hear from Stiles again until an hour before their date, when he sends: _one hour until the start of the rest of our lives._

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles is starting night shift after their date, so they have an early dinner and Stiles insists on picking him up. When Derek opens the door Stiles is standing there with a small bunch of flowers in his hand.

“Really?” Derek asks, but he can’t help the way his lips smile around the word.

Stiles meanwhile is just flat out grinning, obviously pleased with himself. “If we’re going to do this then we’re doing it right.”

Derek takes the flowers but admits, “I don’t have a vase to put them in.”

Stiles pulls his other hand from behind his back. It has a glass vase in it. Derek knows then and there that he’s going to fall stupidly in love with this man one day, probably sooner rather than later.

After the flowers are in their vase they head to the restaurant. They’re going back to DiCaprios, and the whole drive Derek feels this weird combination of skittering nerves and total ease.

They chat about their days and make idle conversation until they’ve gotten their drinks and ordered their food. It’s a little surreal being on a date with Stiles, not least of all because Derek’s never actually been on a date with someone who was a friend first. So they can’t fill the hours with all the standard getting to know you questions, because they already know all the answers.

So when they’re alone again Derek asks, “So tell me something I don’t already know about you, some random and cute anecdote from your childhood or something.”

Stiles laughs, leaning forward on the table. “Okay, let me think. Um … okay so when I was a kid, like only a few years old, we had a dog. He was a golden retriever named Cookie.”

“Cookie?” Derek laughs.

“Yup, that’s what happens when you let a three year old name a dog. Anyway, apparently I used to try and ride him like he was a horse.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Stiles replies, popping the ‘p’ as he is wont to do. “Mom and Dad indulged me once or twice, only for a few steps because they were obviously worried about Cookie, but yeah, I used to ride our pet dog like he was a horse.”

“We had a dog when I was a kid too.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“A German shepherd named Wolfgang.”

Stiles cracks up laughing. “Of course he was.”

“Yeah, my parents thought they were hilarious. Anyway, so I was only a little kid, didn’t really understand the whole…” Derek glances around to make sure no one’s within ear shot, “werewolf thing yet, not fully. So I thought Wolfgang was my brother, not our pet.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles laughs, head thrown back in delight.

“Yup. I used to get so mad that he wouldn’t shift back to human.”

“That is seriously the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. I can totally picture baby Derek with the Eyebrows of Doom furrowed in confusion as he pokes at a puppy trying to get it to change.”

Derek chuckles. “That was pretty much exactly how it went.”

“Did you have any other pets?” Stiles asks, and the conversation flows naturally from there.

Dinner is delicious - Derek goes for a pasta this time - and Stiles is amazing. None of his first dates have ever made him feel like this: comfortable in his own skin. He doesn’t have to censor himself because Stiles already knows all the worst bits about him and, incredibly, he isn’t running for the hills. He’s here, smiling at Derek like he’s something worthwhile, and Derek wants to burst with it.

They talk so long by the time they think about dessert it’s too late to order any because Stiles has to go to work. So they pay up and Stiles drives Derek home.

Derek feels stupidly nervous, sitting there in Stiles’ car, smiling shyly at each other.

“I had a good time,” Stiles says softly.

And Derek doesn’t think, just leans over and kisses Stiles. It’s deep and desperate and at an awkward angle but Derek doesn’t care because it’s so fucking _real_. Stiles is real, he’s here, and Derek still can’t believe that he gets to _have this_. Seatbelts become undone and they try and press as close as they can but have to settle for hands fisted into shirts, fingertips pressed into skin. Derek can feel the beat of Stiles’ heart beneath his fingers when he trails his fingertips down Stiles’ chest and it feels both strong and utterly precious.

Eventually they pull away, but not too far, and Stiles looks at him, hair messed and lips blurry, and then he laughs. It’s full of joy and wonder and Derek just smiles in return.

“You’re something else, Derek,” Stiles says warmly, and Derek leans in for a swift kiss before getting out of the car.

“Talk you to tomorrow?” Derek asks, and when Stiles nods he smiles and closes the door, feeling Stiles’ eyes on him until he walks inside the house.

 

 

*

 

 

Derek doesn’t know why he’s surprised when John comes into the diner the next day. He’s in his uniform, and he’s smiling as he approaches the counter.

“Hello, Derek,” he says warmly. “Thought I’d see if you were free for lunch.”

Derek glances at the clock. “Yeah, it’s about time for my lunch break.”

John’s grin reminds him of Stiles. “Well isn’t that a coincidence.”

Derek chuckles, grabbing his notepad from his pocket. “What would you like?”

“Today I’ll be having a burger with fries and you won’t be telling my son about it.”

Derek scribbles the order down. He knows Stiles will yell at him when he eventually finds out - because of course he will - but Derek has enough self-preservation to know that it’s probably a good idea to keep John on his side for whatever it is he wants to talk to Derek about (and he knows there’s about ninety per cent chance it’s Stiles related).

“Grab a seat wherever you like, I’ll join you in a minute.”

John nods, heading off towards the back of the restaurant. Derek adds his own meal to the order and hands it over to the kitchen, then tells Di he’s going on break, stuffing his apron under the counter before joining John, sliding nervously into the booth opposite him.

John regards him for a few moments, face stern, and Derek just sits there, gaze on the table and waiting for the inevitable. He won’t be the one to speak first - John was the one to seek him out so he obviously has something he wants to say, so Derek figures it’s in his best interest to let him. So he waits, nerves ricocheting up with every passing second.

And then John laughs.

Derek’s eyes snap up, confused, and John just continues to laugh. “Oh, son. You look like I’m about to rip you in two. Let me guess: you’re waiting for the ‘hurt my son and no one will ever find your body speech’, right?”

Derek swallows thickly. “Something like that.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint but that’s not going to happen. Mostly because Stiles can take care of himself, and if you hurt him you’ll have to worry about him much more than me. But also because…” John pauses for a moment, looking at Derek, and the air around them changes from jovial to serious in a heartbeat. “Stiles is an incredible person but people don’t really seem to get him. And he’s gone through some traumatic experiences and because of that he finds it difficult to connect to people. I think you’re both more alike than you realize, and you could be good for each other. Stiles deserves someone who gets him, who _knows everything_ ,” and Derek can’t mistake the significance of those words, “and isn’t scared off.”

Derek nods, unable to find the words to respond.

“And Derek…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good kid who deserves to be happy too.”

Derek can feel something in his chest loosening at the words. “Stiles makes me happy,” he says softly.

John smiles indulgently at him. “I’m glad.”

Di arrives at the table with their drinks, breaking them free of the moment. When she’s gone John says, “So, tell me about life in Colorado…”

 

 

*

 

 

Their next date is at Derek’s house. Derek cooks him a lasagna which Stiles adores, and Derek revels in the sound of their voices filling the room. Normally Derek doesn’t mind the silence that permeates his walls when he’s alone, but here with Stiles and the cacophony of noise he brings with him, it’s different in the best possible way.

It’s something he could definitely get used to.

After dinner they adjourn to the living room to watch a movie, but first Stiles grabs a bag that he dropped by the couch and hands it over to Derek, grinning mischievously. Derek takes the bag with only a slight trepidation and opens it to find it full of DVDs and Blu Rays.

“No offense dude, but we could watch your entire movie collection in a day. So I thought I’d bring some options.”

Derek reaches into the bag, moves them around a bit so he can see the titles. “Okay. Any preferences?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Dealer’s choice,” he says, moving to the couch.

Derek grabs one at random and puts it on. It’s a comedy film Derek’s never seen before, and he watches it with only mild interest, much more enthralled by the feel of Stiles beside him, their arms pressed together, knees touching.

Derek really wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss Stiles more than he’s ever wanted to kiss anyone, but Stiles seems to be enjoying the movie, laughing along happily, so Derek does nothing.

But then Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s leg and when he glances at Stiles he’s already looking at him. Stiles’ eyes are bright and then he leans in and kisses Derek, and in a somewhat ironic twist, Stiles’ lips on his makes him feel like he can finally breathe again.

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair as the kiss deepens. Derek pushes and Stiles happily acquiesces, falling back onto the couch. Derek settles above him, their bodies pressing together, and Derek can do nothing but slide their tongues together as they kiss.

When Derek can’t resist any longer he slides his mouth down the pale column of Stiles’ neck.

“So how does this work?” Stiles pants, and Derek gets the feeling he’s been wanting to ask that since they started kissing but was too distracted by Derek’s mouth to get the words out. The thought makes him smile against Stiles’ skin.

“Keep it above the waist and above the clothes, and we’ll be fine.”

“Junior high rules. Got it.”

Derek chuckles, placing open mouthed kisses along Stiles’ neck, lingering where he can feel his pulse beating beneath the thin layer of skin, and Derek just wants to sink his teeth in and bite. He’s a born wolf, so he’s able to keep a handle on his more animalistic side, but here with Stiles he just wants to _bite_ and _claim_. He scrapes his teeth along the delicate skin and Stiles moans but then warns, “Don’t leave a mark. Work.”

Derek nods, barely enough brain cells left to think that he doesn’t want to ruin any goodwill he has with John by sending Stiles to work all marked up. So instead he claims Stiles’ mouth once more, gratified by the noise Stiles makes in return.

Derek has no idea how the movie ends. They spend the evening making out for a stupidly long time and when they’re done Derek stays where he is, lying on top of Stiles, his face pressed into Stiles’ neck. Stiles runs a hand up and down the spine of Derek’s back and he feels content.

 

 

*

 

 

The diner is busy, so it takes until after an hour past Stiles’ usual lunch break for Derek to realize he hasn’t come in like normal. He knows deputies don’t have the most regular schedule, that he’s probably out on a call, but he also knows Stiles will work himself into a stupor when given a chance and won’t realize he’s gone without food until it’s the end of the day. So he tells Lewis to make the club sandwich he knows Stiles loves and wrap it up to go.

Derek uses his break to head down the street to the Sheriff’s station. He asks the officer at the front desk if Stiles is in, and she looks him up and down and says, “You must be Derek.”

“Uh, yes?” he says, surprised.

“Stiles has been telling everyone about his handsome boyfriend. For once he wasn’t exaggerating.”

Derek barks out a surprised laugh.

“Go on through,” she says.

Derek gives her a grateful smile as he passes by. He knows his way around the station - he doesn’t know exactly how many times he’s been here over his lifetime and to be honest he really doesn’t want to try counting - but he can’t find Stiles. He spots Jordan though, so makes his way over. Jordan is on the phone, but when he sees Derek he holds up a hand to get him to wait.

“Yes, of course,” Jordan is saying, voice placating in that way that people always have when they’re just trying to end the conversation. It’s so blindingly normal that it makes Derek smile. Jordan might be a badass and a hellhound but even he has to deal with people who won’t get off the damn phone. “I’ll look into it,” he adds, and Derek laughs at the lie. Jordan makes a face at him and Derek holds up a hand in surrender.

“Okay. Yes, absolutely. Alright. Have a good day Mrs Hewison. Okay. Bye bye.”

Jordan hangs up the phone and throws his head back with a loud sigh.

“Good day?” Derek asks, smiling.

“With everything we deal with I can’t decide if people complaining about their neighbor's overgrown bushes is a good way to keep grounded or of it’s just an aggravation.” He takes in a deep breath. “Anyway, pretty sure you’re not here to listen to me bitch. What can I do for you?”

“I was looking for Stiles.”

“He’s out on a call.”

Derek nods, unsurprised. “Right. Well, is there somewhere I can leave this for him?”

“Sure.” Jordan gets up and leads Derek across the room to four desks away. “This is him.”

The workstation is a complete mess. It’s definitely Stiles’ desk. Derek places the bag on the one small fraction of the desk not covered by papers. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. I’m glad you came in, actually. Some of the guys are going for drinks on Friday. Did you wanna come?”

Derek knows Stiles is working Friday night, and his first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the word gets out, takes a moment to think about it. He doesn’t really have any friends in town - there are several people he’s friendly with but no one he really takes the time and plans to see - and he’d like to change that. He knows he’s not going anywhere, and it’s time to start putting down some roots. Making some friends would be a good place to start, and he likes Jordan - he’s smart and easy going and friendly - so Derek says, “Sure. Could be fun. But you know I don’t really drink, right?”

Alcohol does nothing for his system, and he’s not drinking it when all he gets in return is wasted calories and a bad taste in his mouth. But Jordan laughs, slapping him on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Just come hang out, the rest is details.”

Derek nods. “Okay.”

“Great, I’ll text you the details on Friday.”

They had swapped numbers when Derek came back, in case of supernatural shenanigans, but he’s never had cause to use it before. “Okay, looking forward to it,” he says, startled to find that he genuinely means it.

He claps Jordan on the back in farewell and heads back to work. And a couple of hours later he gets a text from Stiles: _best boyfriend ever._

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles is smiling when Derek opens the door. “Hi.”

Derek returns the smile, opening the door wider. “Hey.”

Stiles steps forward and kisses him, a slow embrace that is still over too soon. Stiles continues into the house and asks, “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Derek leads him into the kitchen where he’s finishing loading everything into a wicker picnic basket. Stiles laughs good naturedly when he sees it, saying, “That is the most stereotypical picnic basket I’ve ever seen. I love it so much. Please tell me it comes with a red and white check cloth.”

“Sorry, no. But I did get a plaid picnic blanket if that helps.”

“Hell yeah.”

Food packed away they are ready to go. Derek ushers Stiles out of the house, basket in hand, and they get into Derek’s car.

“So where are we going?” Stiles asks as they pull out of the driveway.

“It’s a surprise,” Derek grins, completely anticipating Stiles groan in response.

It isn’t that Stiles hates surprises, it’s just that he wants to know a hundred percent of the information a hundred percent of the time. He’s ravenous for new things while being completely impatient, which is a dangerous combination. But Stiles deserves to be spoiled once in a while, and in Derek’s book spoiling someone is always better as a surprise.

It’s late September and the weather is still nice but Derek knows it won’t last that way for much longer, so he’s decided to take Stiles for a picnic on the preserve. He hasn’t spent a lot of time there since he returned to Beacon Hills and he misses it. And he wants to share this place that is so integral to him and who he is with Stiles.

The car ride is mostly silent, Stiles looking around and trying to figure out where Derek is taking him. He lets out a soft “Oh” when he realizes, but says nothing else until they park on the preserve’s edge.

They get out of the car, Derek pulling the basket and blanket from the back seat. “It’s a bit of a walk, if that’s okay?”

Stiles nods, smiling. “Lead the way.”

The sounds of the preserve are a comforting soundtrack, and even though he knows this place better than anywhere else in the world Derek still looks around greedily, seeing familiar sights, looking for any changes.

“You haven’t been here in a while, huh?” Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head. “Not since before I left.”

“Did you miss it? When you were in Colorado?”

Derek gets the sense Stiles isn’t just asking about the preserve. “Yes and no. It was … difficult being away from this place. But at the same time I needed to stay away. For me.”

“It certainly did wonders for you,” Stiles says, and Derek can’t help but notice the thin layer of bitterness beneath the words.

“If I could’ve done what I needed to do here I would’ve stayed. You have to know that, Stiles. Leaving you and Scott and the pack, leaving Beacon Hills, was not a decision I made lightly. There had already been so much loss already, and if I could’ve prevented all of you from losing one more person - even if it was only through distance and not death - I would have. But I needed to leave, for me, to get some distance and perspective and deal with everything I’d gone through.”

Stiles looks at his feet as he walks. “I know,” he says softly. “Sorry, I - I didn’t mean to imply … I totally get why you left, Derek. And I’m glad that you did, I’m glad you got out and got better. Tell me you know that.”

“I do.”

“I just, sometimes I wish you didn’t have to leave. I wonder if things would’ve been different.”

“I know. Me too.” Derek had been kept awake for several nights thinking about it, wondering if he’d been here if he could’ve made the town safer, if his being here would’ve prevented Stiles needing to kill Donovan. Derek had been paralyzed by the thought that his absence had darkened Stiles’ soul in a way that was completely unavoidable.

He still worries that his absence changed Stiles for the worse, and to be honest he fears that Stiles might never truly forgive him for that.

“So, where are we going?” Stiles asks cheerfully, an obvious change of topic that Derek is happy to go with.

“There’s a small lake not that many people know about. It’s a few miles away, in a part of the preserve that doesn't get much foot traffic.”

Stiles grins. “Cool.” And then he takes the picnic blanket from Derek’s hands and wraps it around himself like a cape. Because of course he does.

Finally they make it to the lake. It’s in a small clearing, and it’s small but pretty and tranquil. Stiles’ face brightens when he sees it. “It’s beautiful.”

Derek ducks his head shyly, taking the blanket back from Stiles and setting up their picnic. It’s not much, just some sandwiches, fruit, and ice cold drinks. But he lays it all out on the blanket while Stiles continues to take in the view.

“Did you come here a lot?” Stiles asks, sitting on the blanket. He reaches for a sandwich and takes a bite, letting out a small moan at the first taste, a moan that does things to Derek he tries to ignore.

“Yeah. Laura and I used to spend a lot of time here, especially in summer. We’d sneak off without telling anyone where we were going. The house is pretty far from here, so it felt like a rebellion, being this far from home, even though we were still on the property and I’m pretty sure our parents knew exactly where we were.”

“Will you tell me about her? Laura?” Stiles asks softly, eyes fixed on his food.

And though his heart skips a beat at the thought Derek still does. It feels both nerve wracking and cathartic talking about her, and as they eat their food he tells Stiles all about her, her kindness and intelligence and protectiveness. He tells Stiles about how cheeky she could be, like the time their mom was trying to teach them piano and after Talia played them a piece by Mozart Laura said, “I want to learn music from my generation, not yours.”

Stiles asks him questions, which leads to stories not only about Laura but about himself and his pack. Stiles watches him with unabashed interest as Derek talks, laughing along with the funny stories, comforting Derek with sympathetic words when he struggles.

Derek talks so long that they’ve both finished the food by the time Derek softly says, “This might sound kind of lame, but Laura really was my best friend. Even before the fire, we were inseparable. There’s even a tree somewhere around here where we carved our names into the trunk.”

“Really?” Stiles says brightly. “Where?”

Derek looks around, trying to reorient himself. “There,” he says, pointing behind Stiles, and Stiles doesn’t hesitate, jumping to his feet and heading off in search of the tree. Derek doesn’t follow - he’s not ready to see it - and instead spends Stiles’ absence cleaning up their scraps, packing away their plates and food back into the basket. When done he lies back on the blanket, eyes closed and listening to the sounds of the preserve, a lullaby he knows better than anything else.

He can hear Stiles approaching but doesn’t move, and Stiles lies down beside him. He puts a hand on Derek’s chest, not moving, just a simple, reassuring touch, and Derek lets the weight of it rest on him for a moment before he brings his own hand up, tangles their fingers together.

When he opens his eyes he can see Stiles, head propped up on an elbow, looking at their joined hands with something like wonder shining on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” Derek asks softly.

“You’ll laugh at me,” Stiles says solemnly, eyes still fixed on their hands.

“I won’t,” Derek promises, running his thumb along the back of Stiles’. “Tell me.”

“One day I was on youtube, bouncing from one video to another, and I came across this song which I really liked. It had really simple but totally clever lyrics. And there was one in particular I loved but never really understood until this moment.”

Stiles pauses for a moment, and worried he’s going to leave it there Derek prompts, “What lyric?”

“ _I'm your ticking clock, hold my hands and the time will stop_.”

Derek doesn’t know how to respond to that, and thankfully he’s saved from trying to articulate what he’s feeling into words by Stiles continuing.

“I get it now. When we’re together, even if we’re just watching tv in total silence, when we touch it feels like the whole world stops, that there’s no such thing as time or space and I keep waiting for this feeling to end, for the novelty to wear off, but it’s been over a month and it still hasn’t.”

Stiles isn’t looking at him, obviously nervous about how his declaration will be received, so he can’t see Derek’s face, how utterly speechless Stiles has rendered him with his words. And speak Derek wants to, desperately, he wants to tell Stiles things he can’t yet put into words. So instead he lifts their tangled hands, pressing a soft and lingering kiss to Stiles’ knuckles.

Stiles kisses him then, and Derek welcomes it. He pulls Stiles closer and he comes willingly, their whole bodies pressing together and the kiss hungry like none of their kisses have ever been. Derek can feel Stiles’ hand pressing into his ribs. He wants to slide under Stiles’ skin, wants to feel connected to him in every possible way. Their mouths are hot and frantic as they move together, and when it becomes too much Stiles pulls back, just enough for them to get some air, foreheads pressed together and breathing the same air.

“Fuck,” Derek groans, and he can feel Stiles nodding against him,

Derek slides a hand up Stiles’ back, cups it around the back of his neck and kisses him again. It’s slower this time, but no less passionate, their tongues sliding together in a way that’s nothing short of perfection. Derek could happily live and die like this, but then Stiles pulls away, collapsing onto the blanket beside him, both their chests rising and falling in sync as they regain their breath.

“Fuck,” Stiles agrees, and then when he turns to look at Derek they both start laughing.

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles’ eyes are drooping closed. It’s late, but through clashes in their work schedules they hadn’t seen each other for a couple of days, so even though Stiles finished his shift late he still wanted to see Derek. So Derek had made a dessert for them and then they retired to the couch to watch a movie.

It’s not even half an hour into the movie and Stiles is struggling to keep his eyes open. “We can stop watching if you like,” Derek suggests.

“No,” Stiles says, shaking himself slightly and sitting up on the couch. “I’m fine.”

They go back to watching the film but ten minutes later his head is lolling to the side.

Amused, Derek asks curiously, “Hey Stiles, can you tell me some comic book characters who have alliterative names?”

“Uh…” Stiles replies drowsily. “Pepper Potts … Lucy Lane  … Bruce Wayne …”

“Okay,” Derek says, chuckling, “time for bed. Come on.”

Derek takes both Stiles’ hands in his and Stiles lets himself be pulled up. He can walk of his own accord but Derek thinks he honestly has no idea where he is or what’s happening. This is confirmed when they get to Derek’s room and Derek guides him to sit on the foot of the bed and Stiles blinks at him, confused. “This isn’t my bedroom.”

“No, it’s mine,” Derek says, bending to take his socks off.

“I’ve never been here before.”

“I know.”

Stiles falls back onto the bed, which luckily puts him in a good position for Derek to strip his jeans off. He does so quickly, and says, “Okay, up you go.”

Eyes still closed, Stiles crawls up the bed and collapses on a pillow. Derek pulls the blanket up to cover him, then leaves him to ready for bed, going into the en suite to brush his teeth and change into some sweats and a t-shirt. When he gets back into the bedroom, Stiles is fast asleep.

 

 

*

 

 

Before Derek knows it he’s been back for three months. The weather has turned cool and everywhere Derek looks Thanksgiving decorations surround him, the whole town seemingly covered in a haze of orange and brown.

He and Stiles have been together for two months and to be honest, despite how hard he’s worked the last few years with not expecting the worst outcome at every turn and believing that he deserves nice things, he still sometimes is caught off guard by the sheer incredulity of it. They probably shouldn’t work, their personalities too strong, too ingrained, and yet they’ve managed to slide almost seamlessly into each other’s lives.

And Derek actually has a life now. He spends at least one evening a week having dinner with Stiles and John at their house. He and Jordan are firm friends, not just supernatural acquaintances and occasional partners in crime, and some of the best nights he’s had have been just sitting around and shooting the shit together. He knows pretty much all the deputies in the Sheriff’s department and has gone out with them for drinks a few times. He adores Luce, one of the managers at the diner, who is about fifteen years older than him and drags him to a yoga class because she wants to learn but doesn’t want to go alone.

It’s not all perfect. There are some days when the new pace of life becomes too much, or times where he’s thrown from his routine and can’t handle it. Like when a last minute change to Stiles’ schedule suddenly makes him available but Derek had already planned to start a new book that night since Stiles was working and Stiles is nice about it, but Derek knows he doesn’t really understand why he can’t just drop it and come out with him. But he still needs that structure, it’s part of his support system now. It might not always be easy but it’s so beneficial to him that he has to stick with it.

So no, it’s not all perfect, but it’s pretty damn close.

Because Stiles kisses him like he means something. Stiles makes him laugh and buys him his favorite chocolates just because he can and stays over at Derek’s place, sleeping beside him with no expectation of anything other than sleep, and that’s more than Derek ever thought he’d get.

 

 

*

 

 

Stiles is vibrating with excitement, eyes glued to the front window, and though Derek is secretly amused he can’t resist teasing Stiles, saying, “You know it’s only been three and a half months since you’ve seen him, right?”

“We haven’t been apart this long since his dad took him to Florida for summer vacation when we were ten.”

“You text every day and Skype multiple times a week,” Derek points out.

“Still not the same.”

Derek chuckles and doesn’t press the point. He covers Stiles’ knee with his hand and Stiles smiles at him, gracing him with a quick kiss before going back to the window.

It’s Thanksgiving morning and Stiles is eagerly awaiting the arrival of his so called hetero-life-mate. In fact everyone has come back to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving - Scott, Lydia, Kira, Liam - and they are having a pack Thanksgiving at Stiles’ place with John, Melissa and Jordan in tow. Derek’s been looking forward to seeing everyone but can’t deny he’s slightly apprehensive about it too. It’s been years, and Derek honestly doesn’t know what to expect.

Derek picks up the scent before Stiles can hear the car, and he smiles, pressing his lips to Stiles’ temple and murmuring, “He’s here.”

Stiles is up like a shot, running to the front door, and Derek follows along, leaning on the door jamb as Stiles flies into the front yard and into Scott’s waiting arms. They embrace like they haven’t seen each other in half a lifetime, surrounded in a cacophony of noise made up of laughter and half formed sentences.

“Okay you two, out of the way,” Melissa says, arms laden with Tupperware containers of food. They move out of her way so she can head inside, and when she gets to the porch Derek asks, “Can I help?”

Melissa smiles warmly. “No, thanks anyway, Derek. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he replies, and then she’s gone, disappeared into the kitchen.

Scott and Stiles come bounding up the stairs and to Derek’s surprise Scott pulls him in for a hug. “Thanks for coming back,” Scott quickly whispers, too low for anyone else to hear.

“Thanks for asking me to come back,” he replies, voice equally low.

Scott’s smile when they break apart is like pure sunshine, and Stiles bounds up to them, throwing an arm around them both. “What are my two boys whispering about, hmmm?”

Derek chuckles, and Scott elbows Stiles in the ribs. Stiles makes a pained noise, but they all know it’s completely put on because no way would Scott ever hurt him. “Never you mind,” Scott says, and he heads inside, Stiles and Derek trailing after him.

The rest of the group trickle in over the next hour. Lydia roams a critical eye over him, and Derek feels exposed under her gaze, but she nods at him before returning her attention back to Scott and Stiles, and Derek is more than okay with leaving it at that. Kira immediately accosts him and asks him all about what he’s been doing since she saw him last; he doesn’t mind, he’s always liked Kira. Liam is the last to arrive, and he brings Mason, who brings his new boyfriend. The living room gets crowded with people and food and there’s not a moment of silence to be found. It reminds Derek of Thanksgiving as a kid, boisterous and fun and though he can’t help but feel a small pang, missing his family, he’s also grateful to be here, to have found something to be a part of again.

The tail end of the parade plays on the television - when Stiles had asked if he’d had any traditions Derek admitted to spending time with his family, curled up in blankets as they watched the parade - but it’s mere background noise, everyone milling around the living room in small groups, catching up on each other’s lives. And when he needs a break he presses a kiss to Stiles’ cheek and heads into the kitchen to help John and Melissa. They’re just plating everything up, so Derek carries the food onto the dining table. The table is too small for the amount of people they have but no one seems to mind, everyone pouring into the room and finding somewhere to sit - Jordan and John end up sitting at the kitchen counter, despite Stiles’ protests - and it’s crowded and loud but unabashedly happy.

After lunch they all spread out again, and Derek finds himself with Scott. He asks Scott about school and Scott happily tells him all about it: his classes, his roommate, the other supernaturals he’s bumped into on campus. Scott in turn asks how life is in Beacon Hills, and Derek replies, “I’m sure there’s nothing I could tell you that you haven’t heard through Stiles or Melissa.”

“The supernatural goings on, sure. But you know when I was asking about life in Beacon Hills I meant _your_ life, right?”

Derek didn’t, and he feels warm with it. “It’s good,” he admits shyly.

“And you’re happy?”

Derek nods, eyes automatically flicking to Stiles. Of course Scott sees, and his grin just widens. “Are you okay with this?” Derek asks nervously, because Scott is not only Stiles’ best friend but he’s the alpha, and Derek might not have had a pack of his own for a long time but the customs are so ingrained in him that he doesn’t know what he'll do if Scott doesn’t approve.

Scott’s expression softens before his eyes. “Dude, of course I am. You’re both so happy - who could possibly argue with that?”

Scott slaps him on the shoulder and Derek smiles, a lightness in his chest he could never fully articulate. Luckily he doesn’t need to, because Stiles comes into the room carrying plates of pie, giving one each to Scott and Derek.

“Movie time,” Stiles say with a grin, before disappearing again.

Apparently Scott and Stiles watch The Land Before Time on Thanksgiving afternoon (“Uh, why?” Derek had asked when Stiles mentioned it, and the reply was, “No idea, we just watched it one Thanksgiving when we were kids and it became a thing”) so after everyone has shuffled about the room, finding a spot to sit with their dessert in hand, Stiles puts the movie on. The adults are still sitting around the table, and Derek would like to count himself among them but Stiles wrapped a hand around his bicep and pulled him back down to the couch when he tried to leave and so Derek surrendered to it.

Truthfully, he didn’t try to escape that hard.

Halfway into the movie he can’t help but notice Scott and Lydia on the couch next to them. They are pressed together in a way that screams of familiarity, and though they are both looking straight ahead at the television Derek can see Scott’s hand resting lightly on Lydia’s thigh.

Derek would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised, but he figures when it comes to unexpected matches he’s in no position to talk, so says nothing. They look happy, and that’s the main thing.

Stiles notices Derek looking at something other than the television, so follows his gaze. Derek has a moment to worry about Stiles’ reaction - it might have been unrequited but Lydia was his first love, would forever remain that way, and Derek honestly wasn’t sure how he’d react to seeing his best friend with his first love - but Stiles smiles indulgently at them, a completely genuine reaction, and Derek slides their fingers together, gratified when Stiles squeezes his hand.

The afternoon consists of too much food, and slowly but surely everyone starts trickling out for other obligations. Derek is ready for the hug from Scott this time, though he’s surprised but pleased by the quick press of Lydia’s lips on his cheek. The four of them make plans to see each other again before Scott and Lydia both go back to school, and then they leave together, all but confirming Derek’s suspicions. Finally it’s just Derek, Stiles and John in the house - Derek and Stiles are at either end of the couch, legs tangled together in the middle - and then John disappears too, off to work.

“I’m dying,” Stiles moans, clutching at his stomach.

Derek chuckles. “Pretty sure you were warned not to have that fourth piece of pie. In fact, if memory serves, both Scott _and_ your father told you not to eat it. Not sure how much sympathy you deserve.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Stiles grumbles, and the fact that he doesn’t try to argue or justify himself says it all.

“I am,” he promises, and he wraps his hands around Stiles’ foot and starts pressing his thumbs into the arch. Stiles moans, shifting down the couch slightly so Derek can reach easier, and Derek asks, “Good?”

“Sooo good.”

Derek spends a few minutes massaging his foot and then breaks the easy silence with, “So, Scott and Lydia huh?”

“I guess so. I knew he was seeing someone but he’s been weirdly cagey about telling me who it was. I should’ve figured out it was Lydia since they’re both going to college in Boston and really, unless it was a guy or something, there’d be no reason not to tell me who it was unless I already knew them.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Derek asks. He’s not proud, he wants to hear Stiles say the words, wants to listen for the skip in his heartbeat that hopefully never comes, because being together for a little over three months is nothing compared to the years Stiles spent lusting after Lydia.

Stiles looks Derek square in the eyes, and he can tell Stiles knows exactly why he’s asking. But Stiles doesn’t tease or judge him for it. He just says, “Absolutely,” and there is no hint of a lie.

Derek ducks his head, embarrassed and relieved all at once.

“It’s not the most obvious pairing, I’ll grant you that, but then again neither were we,” Stiles continues, and Derek can’t help but be amused by how similar his thoughts are echoing Derek’s reaction to the news. “Can I ask you something?” Stiles continues, but his voice has gone low, hesitant.

“You can ask me anything,” he replies earnestly.

“Before - before you left Beacon Hills, did you ever think about … you know … me and you?”

Derek promised himself when he and Stiles started seeing each other that he would never lie to him. But he doesn’t want to hurt Stiles either, which is why he reluctantly admits, “Honestly, no.”

Stiles tries to remain impassive but Derek can still see him deflate slightly.

“I felt _something_ for you I didn’t feel for anyone else,” Derek explains. “A different kind of connection. I worried about you more than the others, and trusted you more too. If I had … romantic feelings for you I wasn’t conscious of them. I guess I could blame it on all my sex and intimacy issues, not even wanting to consider the possibility of it. Or maybe it was just me being an idiot and not seeing what was right in front of me.”

Stiles barks out a laugh, and Derek revels in it. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Derek goes back to the foot massage, only a few moments later does he think to ask, “Why? Did you?”

Stiles’ eyes sparkle with mischief. “I plead the fifth.”

 

 

*

 

 

_Caught up at work, not sure what time I’ll be done. Sorry babe._

Derek frowns at the message, typing back _Everything okay?_

_Bad day._

Derek tries not to let his mind run too wild at that. It could mean anything. So he just texts back _I’ll keep some dinner for you if you wanna come over when you’re done, but I understand if you just wanna go straight home._

 _k, thanx_.

Derek finishes making dinner, putting a plate aside for Stiles and taking his into the living room. He flicks through the channels and stops on a showing of 12 Angry Men, settling in to watch it. He doesn’t hear back from Stiles, so when the movie is done he readies for bed. He tries to stay awake, reading his book in bed, but after an hour he starts to doze.

Of course that’s when Stiles enters the room. He’s still in his uniform, and as he starts to strip Derek drowsily mumbles, “Hey. You okay?”

“You should keep your door locked,” Stiles chastises. “I know it’s only a small town but you never know what’s going to happen and better to be safe than sorry.” When he’s down to his tee and underwear Stiles climbs into bed.

“Okay, remind me to get you a key,” Derek says slowly, closing his eyes again.

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls, tugging Derek so he’s spooned behind Stiles. Derek slides a hand under his tee, palm pressing flat to Stiles’ chest, pressing their bodies close.

“You okay?” Derek murmurs, mouthing at the base of Stiles’ neck.

“I am now,” Stiles whispers. “I’m here with you.”

 

 

*

 

 

December flies by in a whirlwind of cold weather, annoying Christmas music, and long work days.

Both Derek and Stiles are busy. Patronage at the diner increases a staggering amount and even with his werewolf stamina and strength Derek’s exhausted by the end of the day. Stiles is working night shift, which means that they share a meal - dinner for Derek and breakfast for Stiles - before parting ways again.

Christmas is a bit of a non-event, but Derek’s okay with that. He’d had a great Thanksgiving with Stiles and the extended pack, but Christmas more than any other holiday makes him miss his family, and he isn’t sure he’d be up for any kind of get-together. So he has breakfast with Stiles who is coming off his night shift - Stiles is happy to have an excuse to eat breakfast for dinner, and he whips up an amazing omelet for them - and they exchange presents before Stiles wanders off to bed.

Derek spends the day reading the book Stiles bought him for Christmas, and the day passes quickly, Stiles leaving for work before Derek knows it.

An hour later Derek gets a call from Stiles asking him to come to the station. He says something about a possible new werewolf in town, and Derek agrees, shaking his head with an amused chuckle when he hangs up the phone. Stiles can be sneaky little shit sometimes, so it’s nothing short of hilarious to Derek that other times he’s completely obvious.

Still, Derek heads to the station and pretends to be surprised when Stiles presents him with a birthday cake. John and Jordan are there too, but Stiles is the only one wearing a brightly colored party hat. The office is pretty empty, so they sit around Stiles’ desk, eating pieces of a heavenly red velvet cake (Derek’s favorite).

“You weren’t surprised at all, were you?” John asks while Jordan and Stiles are distracted discussing the relative merits and shortfalls of high school lacrosse.

“Not at all,” Derek admits, smiling. “But it’s the thought that counts.”

New Years is also a bit of a bust, because Stiles is still working, and no amount of begging will get him out of it. At five am on New Year’s Eve Stiles wakes Derek when he gets home, pressing his lips to Derek’s in a kiss that lingers until Derek wakes, automatically returning it. Stiles sweeps his tongue into Derek’s mouth and Derek pulls him closer, fingers curled around the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Happy New Year,” Stiles whispers when they finally pull apart.

Derek makes a soft noise in reply, but then his brain catches up. “Wait, it’s still the 31st, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but since I’m going to be working at midnight I figured since it’s midnight in Australia as we speak then this was a good alternative.”

“Of course you did,” Derek replies, words full of affection. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

Stiles chuckles softly, settling himself in bed beside Derek. “Of course you can, Sourwolf.”

Derek works during the day, a constant parade of excited people who ask him about his New Year’s plans - he lies, it’s just easier - and after work has dinner with Kira who is in town visiting her parents. She’s meeting up with some friends for a party afterwards, and she invites him along but he declines. He’s had enough partying to last him a lifetime.

He stays up until midnight, if only to send a text to Stiles wishing him a happy new year. He doesn’t get an immediate reply, but to be honest he wasn’t expecting one, knowing that tonight was one of the Sheriff's department's busiest nights. As he readies for bed he receives messages from both Kira and Scott, and he feels simultaneously touched at their thoughtfulness and guilty for the lack of his own. He sends them both messages back, and crawls into bed.

He wakes in the morning to Stiles sitting beside him in bed. He’s sitting against the bed headboard, a tray of food balanced on his lap. Derek smiles, stretching languidly and pressing his face into Stiles’ hip. Stiles threads his fingers through Derek’s hair and Derek honestly can’t remember ever feeling so content.

“Hungry?” Stiles asks, but Derek shakes his head, happy to just lay here for a bit.

Stiles finishes eating, and then puts the tray aside and slides down the bed, immediately leaning in to kiss Derek good morning. The kiss is sleepy soft and warm and Derek throws an arm over Stiles, keeping him close.

“Happy new year,” Stiles murmurs when they separate, and Derek’s laughter makes their noses bump together.

“Thought we had our New Year’s kiss already.”

“We did. But I never got a chance to reply to your text, so…”

Derek hums in acknowledgement.

“Sleep well?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods. He opens his mouth to tell Stiles about the dream he had - he was at the Monterey Bay aquarium but along with the otters and seals there were swimming dinosaurs and everyone acted like that was completely normal - when he remembers something, something he hadn’t thought about in years.

“What is it?” Stiles asks curiously.

“I just remembered something.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember when Kate took me?”

“Dude, I chased your ass down to Mexico and dealt with the Calaveras to get you back. Of course I remember. Why?” he asks, looking worried at where this story is heading.

“I dreamed of you. Before she took me, it felt like a dream but I didn’t remember waking up so I asked you how you knew if you were dreaming. You told me to count fingers, so I grabbed your wrist and counted - there were six.”

“You grabbed my hand instead of looking at your own?” Stiles chuckles.

Derek can’t help but laugh at that. “Not the point,” Derek says, though he can’t deny it’s not an insignificant thing. “I was scared, and questioning my sanity, and I thought of you.”

Stiles’ smile takes on a different quality then. “So I’m the man of your dreams?” he asks, voice light with levity that feels just a touch too forced.

Knowing that if Stiles was a werewolf he’d hear not one word of a lie, Derek replies earnestly, “You are.”

 

 

*

 

 

Derek likes Dr Davey. He’s warm and amiable and Derek trusts him. They’ve scaled back to sessions once a fortnight, and Derek knows he could probably do away with them completely but he’s not ready for that yet. It’s part of that routine he relies on, and it might sound stupid but he thinks as soon as he stops going something bad will happen, something he’d need therapy for, so he keeps going.

Derek tells him that yesterday he went past the motel where he and Kate first had sex and, for the first time, he didn’t think about her. He only realized later in the day that he was at the traffic lights outside it for a few minutes and hadn’t thought about Kate, and it felt liberating.

“Breakthroughs come in all shapes and sizes,” Luke tells him. “This was one.”

Derek smiles widely at him. He feels pretty great about it, to be honest. It feels weird to be proud of something he didn’t do, of something that he wasn’t even conscious of, but he feels it all the same.

“So, you haven’t mentioned Stiles yet today,” Luke points out.

“He’s fine,” Derek says easily. “Things are going great.”

Luke nods thoughtfully. “Have you told him that you love him yet?”

Derek starts at that. He splutters slightly - vaguely aware how ridiculous he looks - and finally manages to say, “How do you know that I do?”

“Well, you’ve been together for about four months now, it’s not an unreasonable assumption. But I didn’t ask if you did or not, I asked if you’ve told him, if indeed that is how you feel.”

The truth is Derek hasn’t said it. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it, because what he feels for Stiles feels too big and complicated and real and significant to be described in a single word, but he supposes out of all the words in the world ‘love’ is probably the closest.

But that word is utterly terrifying. It’s a kiss of death, and he won’t let it have Stiles. Every person he’d ever said it to has either died or betrayed him: he’d said it freely to his parents when he was a child, he’d told Paige he loved her the day before she died, he’d moaned the words to Kate as they’d fucked...

He couldn’t bear the idea of Stiles joining their company, so he hadn’t said it, even if he’d thought it during those quiet moments they were curled up together and it felt like his whole life was leading to that moment.

He won’t risk Stiles that way, and tells Luke as much.

Luke looks intently at Derek for a moment, obviously processing. Then he puts his notebook aside and leans forward in his chair. “Do you think Stiles would ever betray you?” he asks. “Like the way Kate and Jennifer betrayed you?”

“No,” Derek admits. “I think he’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met.”

“So what you’re really worried about is him leaving you.”

Derek doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look at him, and he knows his silence is speaking volumes.

“Look, Derek, there is nothing about this that is inevitable, least of all Stiles leaving you. Can I promise he’ll never leave? No. Just as I can’t promise that he will. And even disregarding the fact that your past doesn’t define your future, and the fact that you are not the same person now as you were then, and the fact that I really don’t think life works that way: don’t you think Stiles deserves the choice for himself?” Luke asks. “Maybe he’s just as terrified about you leaving him as you are about him leaving. But maybe he thinks loving you is worth the risk.”

Derek can’t reply, too overwhelmed to form any coherent thoughts. He loves Stiles, he knows that down to the marrow in his bones, but there’s always been a small part of him that couldn’t believe he deserved Stiles love in return, and that for some reason they’d end up destroying each other, because how could he be allowed to have this after everything he’d done.

“I’m not telling you to rush out and tell him, and I’m definitely not advocating you saying it if that’s not really how you feel. Just, think about it, okay?”

Derek nods, a promise.

“And how is the no sex going?”

Derek barks out a laugh at the abrupt change in tone. “Honestly, I think he’s handling it better than I am.”

“So you’re struggling with it.”

“Every day I struggle with it,” Derek deadpans.

“But you’re still resolved?”

Honestly, Derek isn’t so sure any more. He wants Stiles with every fiber of his being, wants to touch and taste and connect with him the only way they’ve yet been able to, but his vow wasn’t something he did lightly and it’s still important to him. He doesn’t really know how to reconcile the two.

“I am,” he says, and for the first time he wishes Luke was a werewolf. Maybe if he was he could tell Derek if he was lying or not.

 

 

*

 

 

The cooler weather usually means slower business, but today is downright glacial. Derek’s so bored he’s resorted to rearranging the stock in the pantry. About an hour before his shift is due to finish Luce finally takes pity on him and tells him to just head out.

After he changes he pulls out his cell and dials John. Since he has some unexpected free time it’s a good opportunity to have a conversation with the Sheriff.

“Hello, Derek,” John answers warmly.

“Hi. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Of course not. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he quickly assures. “I just … I was hoping we could have a quick chat, some time that Stiles isn’t around.”

There’s a brief pause that Derek can’t interpret before John replies, “Sure. Stiles is out on a call and probably won’t be back for an hour if you’re free now?”

“Now sounds great. I’m just leaving work so I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“See you then.”

Derek hangs up the phone, waves to Luce on the way out, and walks up the street to the station. He exchanges pleasantries with Ilene, who is manning the front desk, and once he makes it into the bullpen he’s accosted by Anthony, who invites Derek and Stiles to his birthday drinks on the weekend. Derek thanks him and says he’ll talk to Stiles about it. Two other deputies say hello to him before he makes it to John’s office, and he’s chuckling to himself by the time he walks into John’s office, closing the door behind him.

“What’s so funny?” John asks, his face bright and smiling in a way that reminds him sharply of Stiles.

“Just thinking that the me of five years ago could never have conceived of having so many cop friends,” Derek replies, taking a seat opposite John at the desk.

John chuckles warmly. “Life has a funny way of turning out how you’d least expect.”

“Don’t I know it,” Derek says, and they both know what he means. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you about Stiles.”

“I’m going to stop you right there, son,” John says, leaning forward in his chair. “Though I personally am touched by the gesture I’m not sure Stiles would appreciate the archaic overture.”

Derek stares at John, confused. That really doesn’t make sense for the reason he’s here. “Sir?”

Now John looks confused. “You - you’re here to ask my permission to marry Stiles, aren’t you?”

Derek laughs at that, which is probably not an appropriate reaction but in his shocked state it’s the only thing his brain can manage to do. “No, no I’m - not that I wouldn’t - I don’t - no, no that’s not why I’m here.”

“Sorry. You said you wanted to talk when Stiles wasn’t here, I just assumed...”

Derek curses himself for being so vague. Of course John assumed that was why he was here. “No, I wanted to ask for your help with something, as his boss.”

“Oh?” John asks, looking intrigued.

“I know it’s a couple of months away but I’ve been thinking about Stiles’ birthday. I want to surprise him with a trip to New York.”

John smiles widely at Derek. “He’d love that.”

He can feel himself blush but tries to move past it. “I think so too. But I wasn’t sure when would be a good time - when he can be away from work.”

“How long were you wanting to go for?”

“A week, give or take?”

“Well,” John says, scribbling a note on a nearby scrap of paper, “it’s probably slightly nepotistic but I’ll have a look at the scheduling and see what I can do. Did you want to go for his actual birthday?”

Derek hadn’t even thought about it as an option, to be honest. He’d assumed John would want Stiles here for his birthday. “I don’t mind. Whatever works best for you. Ideally I’d love April or May but honestly, whatever you can work out will be fine.”

John writes down a few words. “Okay, let me look into it and I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, John,” Derek says, standing. “I won’t keep you.”

John nods, and Derek heads to the door, but before he can leave John says his name. Derek turns curiously and John smiles at him. “For the record, when you do ask my son to marry you, I’ll be nothing but thrilled for the both of you.”

John Stilinski was the person who told him his whole family had died. He was the one who arrested him for Laura’s murder. And now he’s the one telling him he’d be happy to have him join their family, that he trusts Derek with his son - the person he loves and treasures most in the whole world. Derek smiles at him, hoping he can convey his warmth and gratitude without saying the words, before silently slipping from the room.

Life really does have a funny way of turning out how you’d least expect.

 

 

*

 

 

Derek feels unsettled.

It starts from the moment he wakes up and doesn’t abate. There’s nothing obviously wrong - he wakes after a solid night’s sleep and he texts with Stiles as he eats his breakfast, it’s drizzling but not pouring on the drive to work, the diner is constant but not overly busy all morning - and yet he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. It’s like electricity in his veins, a feeling he can’t shake, but there’s nothing he can do about it other than hope that it simply goes away.

And then Jordan walks into the diner.

Something’s wrong.

The panic must be showing on his face because Jordan puts his hands up in a placating gesture and says, “Now before you overreact he’s fine-”

“What happened?” Derek demands.

“It’s not serious,” Jordan continues.

“Parrish, what’s wrong?”

“Stiles is in the hospital but he’s-”

Derek doesn’t think, just flies out of the diner and runs to his car. He can hear Jordan calling his name but he ignores it, just jumps in the car and drives down to Beacon Hills Memorial, a drive he knows so well he could make it blindfolded with a hand tied behind his back. He supposes he should be thankful that he’s been back for six months and this was his first visit considering it felt like they were here every other week back in the day.

He rushes into emergency and doesn’t even ask where Stiles is, he just follows the scent he knows better than his own until he finds him. He’s sitting on a bed, a nurse bandaging his arm, and Derek lets out an involuntary whine, which causes Stiles to look up and see him.

Stiles looks surprised at first, and then his expression melts into a combination of exasperation and fondness. “Babe, I’m fine,” Stiles says, and Derek walks into the room, eyes fixed on Stiles.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m a bit scratched up, but I’m okay, Derek. It’s no biggie - no surgeries or overnight stays required. Look, I’m not even in my own room,” he points out, and when Derek looks around him he sees seven other beds in the large room, half of them filled with patients waiting to be stitched up or otherwise attended to.

Derek takes a deep breath, tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He steps forward, careful of the nurse working diligently on Stiles and kisses him. He’s never felt the need to feel Stiles whole and safe beneath his touch as viscerally as he feels it now.

“What happened?” Derek asks as he steps back, and Stiles gives him a significant look Derek can’t fail to understand.

“Just work stuff,” Stiles replies dismissively, and Derek nods, a silent reply that they can wait until later.

Stiles pats the gurney and Derek sits beside him, Stiles lacing their fingers together with his good hand and they watch the nurse work.

“Now, Stiles,” she says, pulling off her gloves when she’s done, “I know this isn’t your first rodeo but I’m going to go through how to care for your stitches and you’re going to listen to me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Janine,” Stiles whines petulantly, but he winks at her nonetheless. Derek wonders if she knows Stiles through Melissa or simply from too many hospital visits. Given his attitude he suspects it might be a combination of both.

She recites the care instructions and they both listen along intently, and when done she reminds Stiles that he needs to come back in a week to get them removed, before saying he’s free to leave.

They walk out to Derek’s car in silence, and when they slide in Derek asks, “Where to?”

“Well, I’ve just paid a visit to one of my least favorite places in town. I think I deserve some curly fries.”

So Derek takes him back to the diner, and Derek is ready to grovel in apology to Luce for leaving without a word but then she sees Stiles’ arm and she just hugs Stiles warmly and says, “Milkshake and curly fries?”

Stiles chuckles, returning her embrace. “You’re my hero.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true,” she replies, looking over at Derek for a moment. She then ruffles Stiles’ hair affectionately and tells him to take a seat. Derek tells Stiles he’ll join him in a minute and Stiles nods, heading off into the back corner of the restaurant to get them a table.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek says as soon as Stiles is out of earshot. “I shouldn’t’ve just-”

“It’s okay, Derek. I understand. Your man was hurt and you needed to go see him.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have left like that, without even saying anything.”

“Deputy Parrish explained. It’s fine. Go, sit, I’ll get you some food too. Looks like you could use it.”

“Thanks, Luce,” he says warmly, kissing her on the cheek before heading across the room to join Stiles in the corner booth. Their knees knock together as he sits down and he can’t help but stare at Stiles’ arm.

“Cheer up, Sourwolf,” Stiles says, smiling lightly. “I’m really okay.”

“What happened?”

Stiles takes in a deep breath. “It was an Omega.”

“ _What_?!”

Stiles reaches over and puts his hand over Derek’s. “It’s really not a big deal, Derek. I promise. And I’m okay, remember, so do you want me to tell you what happened or are you going to continue freaking out unnecessarily?”

Derek glares at him for that, which somehow just makes Stiles laugh. But Derek can’t deny the way Stiles’ laughter calms him, which maybe was the plan all along. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Stiles sits back, and unfortunately takes his hand with him. “The Department got a call, which thankfully Dad intercepted. Someone was out in the preserve, and she was … disheveled, unruly, _snarling_. Dad sent me in case of supernatural shenanigans, so I went out there and I found her. She was … a mess. She wasn’t dangerous, just scared and alone and I tried to help, tried to tell her I wasn’t going to hurt her and that I wanted to make sure she was okay. But when I approached her … I think she must’ve smelled you on me because she freaked. Lashed out. I don’t think she meant to hurt me, she was just trying to escape and I got in the way. She disappeared, and I drove myself back to town. End of story.”

Derek takes a moment to process this. It wasn’t as bad as he had been fearing but still, Stiles could've been seriously hurt.

“What did she look like?”

“What difference does it make?” Stiles counters with a shrug. “She’s long gone.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

Luce arrives with their food, Stiles’ eyes growing three times in size when he sees the curly fries. He doesn’t hesitate, just dives right in and eats them as though he’d never eaten before.

Derek picks at his salad, unable to stop the whirlwind in his mind. Stiles could’ve been seriously hurt today. He was lucky, and Derek will be eternally grateful for that, but he shouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. Derek should’ve been there. He could’ve helped. Maybe if he’d been there things would’ve turned out differently.

He can feel a pressure on his hand and he looks up to see Stiles looking intently at him. “Stop it,” Stiles admonishes. “It wasn’t your fault and I’m fine so there’s no need to panic or angst or any of the other things your brain is doing right now. So _stop_ worrying about me.”

Derek chuckles, not entirely full of mirth. “You can read my mind now, Stilinski?” he teases.

Stiles grins, and even though Derek already knows it in this moment he is taken aback by how truly beautiful Stiles is. “I might not have your wolfy powers, but I do have one very particular superpower.”

“Yeah?” Derek asks, lips quirking into a small smile. “What’s that?”

“I can spot an angsting Derek from a mile away.”

“Is that a fact?” Derek laughs.

“Oh yeah. And it’s my mission in life to shut it down every single time, to turn that frown upside down.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, but he’s smiling so wide his cheeks ache with it, so he can’t deny Stiles is very good at what he does.

Stiles returns his grin, saying, “You love it.”

Yeah, Derek thinks, I really do.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s just gone dark but Derek doesn’t stop, he keeps moving, determined.

The dried up leaves crunch beneath his feet as he runs through the preserve. It’s quiet, nothing untoward in his vicinity, but he doesn’t stop. His lungs expand and contract, every step taking him deeper into the woods. The cool March air clings to his skin but he barely feels it, sweat coating his body from the hours spent running the preserve’s length and back.

His phone rings, so he pulls it from his bicep strap and looks at the screen, smiling at the photo Stiles set as his contact picture: Stiles is behind Derek but holding the camera at arm's length over his shoulders, all exaggerated smiles while Derek scowls at the lens. Every once in a while Stiles will go into his phone and change his contact photo, just to keep Derek on his toes. He must’ve changed it last night while Derek wasn’t looking.

“Hey,” Derek says, voice labored.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asks, obviously worried.

“Fine,” Derek replies easily. “What’s up?”

There’s a slight pause before Stiles says, “I thought we were having dinner at yours tonight, weren’t we? I’m here, but you’re not…”

Derek mentally curses. He totally forgot. “I’m on my way home now. I’ll grab some take out on my way.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, but there is an uncertain wavering to his voice, but before he can think too hard about it the line goes dead.

Derek jogs back to the car, jumping in and driving back to town. He goes to Stiles’ favorite Chinese restaurant and orders some fried rice and two of Stiles’ favorite dishes. He doesn’t know what’s going on but Stiles’ distant voice worries him and he figures better to be safe than sorry.

When he gets home Stiles is sitting on the couch. He stands at Derek’s entrance, looking eerily calm, and Derek tentatively steps into the room, leaving the bag of steaming food on the coffee table and just regarding Stiles for a moment.

“Hey. Where were you?” Stiles asks, aiming for casual interest but Derek knows Stiles too well now.

“Just out for a run.”

Stiles nods, taking a step closer. “You were out scenting for omegas, weren’t you?”

“No,” Derek says, unconvincing even to his own ears. Stiles just looks at him. “I was multi-tasking as I exercised…?” Derek tries again, putting as much levity into his voice as he can, and it must work, because Stiles just lets out a small chuckle.

“It’s been nearly three weeks, Derek. They’re gone, and they won’t be back.”

“I need to be certain,” Derek says, determined, and Stiles tilts his head, looks at Derek for a moment.

“Something else is going on here. What’s wrong?”

Derek lets out a low breath, ashamed before even saying the words. “Scott asked me back here to protect the town, and I haven’t been doing that. I was too busy just being happy with you that I forgot why I was here. I wasn’t patrolling or doing any of the things I was meant to and someone could’ve gotten hurt. _You_ almost got hurt.”

Stiles softens before his eyes, letting out a quiet, “Derek,” before closing the distance between them, throwing his arms around Derek in a tight hug. Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck, breathes in the comforting scent.

“I just want you safe,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles pulls back at that, taking Derek’s face in his hands.

“And I adore you for that. But I’ll be fine. You’re going to be stuck with me for a very long time, rogue werewolves be damned.”

Stiles kisses him before Derek can respond. It’s a soft kiss and yet it feels like Stiles is pouring everything he feels into the simple embrace, and Derek hears it loud and clear. He wastes no time in deepening the kiss, needing to show Stiles how much he wants him, how thankful he is to be with him. His fingertips press into Stiles’ hips as their tongues move easily against each other, but it’s not enough. He needs more.

He presses forward, walking Stiles over to the nearest wall and crowding him against it. Stiles moans at the press of Derek’s body into his, and Derek wraps his arms around his lower back, desperate to get them as close as possible as he slides his mouth down Stiles’ neck. Stiles arches under him, not a submission but a welcoming embrace.

“I adore you, too,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ skin, and then Stiles drags him back up, their mouths meeting in a drugged kiss.

Derek pulls back and quickly pulls his t-shirt over his head. Stiles is looking at him with dazed eyes and when Derek grips the hem of his Henley Stiles lifts his arms so Derek can remove it. Derek sinks back into him, Stiles’ skin warm against the chill of his own. He won’t ever tire of kissing Stiles, the way their mouths move together as though they were made for this very purpose. They’ve had plenty of hot and intense kisses since they started dating but this is something different: it’s desperate, a vehement declaration of what they are to each other, of how much they both _want_. And Derek does. He always has a low-level hum of want in his veins, but now he can feel his blood boil with it, the absolute need he has for Stiles.

Derek’s hand is resting at the base of Stiles’ throat and he can feel his pulse vibrating beneath his touch. He slowly lets his hand trail down, over Stiles’ chest and stomach, and that’s when Stiles pulls back, stops kissing him. But before Derek can feel too worried Stiles presses their foreheads together, both of them panting and breathless.

“We should stop,” Stiles says between attempts to catch his breath.

“I don’t want to,” Derek admits, and it’s true.

“We’re getting caught up in the moment, Derek,” Stiles says, and this time he does move away, sliding out from where Derek still has him pressed to the wall. “I don’t want you to regret this. I could bear anything but that.” And even though Derek can see a flicker of reluctance Stiles grabs his shirt from the floor and throws it back on. “I should go.”

“Stiles, wait,” Derek says, but it’s too late. Stiles doesn’t look back, just strides out of the room and Derek doesn’t stop him, just stands there and listens to the front door opening and closing, to the sound of Stiles’ car as it drives away.

He doesn’t move, not even long after he’s lost the sound of the jeep as it increases the distance between them. He’s overwhelmed, confused, doesn’t know how to begin processing what just happened. He finally moves, but he’s still in a daze, even as he showers and redresses. Even as he eats the lukewarm dinner he bought for them. His mind is screaming the whole time, a cacophony of noises that he can’t stop.

The more he thinks about it the more he realizes that it wasn’t a lie, and it wasn’t just the heat of the moment. He wants Stiles, is ready to take their relationship to the next level, and, the truth is, he doesn’t want to wait either.

So he grabs his keys and drives over to see Stiles.

It’s dark, a thick rain pouring down as he drives the familiar route to the Stilinski house. He parks in the driveway, behind the jeep, and rushes through the downpour to the front door. He knocks on the door and every second that passes feels like agony. He has a key, but it doesn’t feel right to use it, and as the time passes with still no answer Derek thinks he was right to. Stiles hasn’t answered, obviously doesn't want to see him, so, despondent, Derek turns and heads back to the car.

He’s halfway there when the sound of the door opening catches his attention. Derek turns but doesn’t move forward, not even when Stiles closes the door behind him, stepping onto the porch. He’s still in that same Henley, the one Derek had earlier slipped from his body, the very same one Stiles stole the first time he spent the night at Derek’s, but he’s swapped his jeans for pajama pants and Derek just stares at him, uncaring about the rain falling on him.

“Hey...” Stiles says, clearly surprised.

“I want us to have sex.”

Stiles steps out into the rain, and even in the low light Derek can see his top started to darken from the raindrops. “Derek-” Stiles says softly, but Derek can’t let him continue, he needs to tell Stiles everything.

“I made that decision to stop myself from rushing into something I knew I’d end up regretting, to stop myself from trusting someone who would only end up hurting me. But you never would. I _know_ you, Stiles, and more than that I _trust_ you. And yes, we’ve only been together for six months and it’s probably too soon to talk about marriage but if there’s one thing that I know beyond all else it’s that I’m stupidly in love with you. I can see us getting married one day. And I don’t need that vow anymore: it was there to protect me, to keep me safe, and it did. It kept me safe so that I could find you.”

Stiles just stares at him for a moment before stepping forward, cupping Derek’s face in his hands. “I would’ve waited,” he says, voice soft in the pouring rain, and Derek doesn’t even need to listen for a lie because he knows there won’t be one. “I would’ve waited forever.”

“I know, and I love you for it. But I don’t need to wait anymore.”

Derek doesn’t know who moves first, all the matters is that they’re kissing, raw and desperate and so fucking perfect. As much as he’d love to luxuriate in the feeling he’s here for another reason, and they’re standing in the pouring rain when they really should be moving this inside. When he says as much to Stiles he shakes his head, instead wrapping his fingers around Derek’s wrist and pulling him towards Derek’s car. Stiles climbs into the backseat first, and by the time Derek gets in Stiles has already shucked off his pants. He straddles Derek’s lap, returning his mouth to Derek’s as though they’d never been apart.

Finally Derek is able to get his hands on Stiles, and he does, running his hands along the outside of Stiles’ thighs. He presses his fingers into Stiles’ flank. His hands glide up and down Stiles’ spine. When he can’t take it anymore he pushes Stiles’ henley off and now Stiles is in his lap, completely naked and mouth pressed to Derek’s neck, while Derek sits there still fully clothed. It’s in equal parts the most ridiculous and the hottest thing to ever happen to him.

Stiles gets his hands on Derek’s jeans and Derek can’t help but think that this was how both their first times should’ve been: not in a cheap motel room rented by the hour or in the basement of a mental hospital, but in the backseat of a car like two normal kids.

“Did you bring anything?” Stiles asks, and when Derek reluctantly shakes his head Stiles stops tenderizing Derek’s neck to pull back and laugh. “You came all this way to have sex and you didn’t even bring lube?”

Derek chuckles ruefully. “To be honest my brain couldn’t process much beyond _I want to have sex with Stiles tonight_.”

“Well,” Stiles says, shifting up enough that they can both pull Derek’s pants and underwear down to his knees, “that’s something I can relate to. I’ve definitely been distracted to the point of incoherence just thinking about fucking you.”

Derek groans, a combination of Stiles’ words and his hand wrapping around his cock. He kisses Stiles, because he can’t not, and then gets his own hand on Stiles. Stiles breaks the kiss with a moan, head thrown back beautifully, and Derek runs his nose up the pale column, ending with an open-mouthed kiss right under his chin. But then Stiles bats Derek’s hands away and Derek, if for no other reason than pure curiosity, lets him.

“You first,” Stiles says, and he gets a hand back on Derek and starts moving. Derek desperately wants to thrust up into the touch but there’s no room, and he squirms in his seat, feeling himself getting harder by the second. Nothing has ever felt as amazing as Stiles’ hand on his cock, and he never wants it to end.

“This isn’t going to last long,” Derek murmurs.

“Well, I am pretty good at this,” Stiles beams, twisting his hand just so and making Derek gasp.

“Yeah, plus the fact that I haven’t had anyone but me touch my dick in three years…” Derek teases.

Stiles quickly licks his palm, and this time he’s like a man on a mission, touching Derek like they’ve done this a million times and he already knows all of Derek’s secrets and wants to use them to his advantage. He leans in, kissing at the hinge of Derek’s jaw. “And no one else is going to be touching it again. No one but me. You’re mine, Derek. I love you, and you’re mine.”

Derek comes then, arching and breathless, not even enough willpower to say Stiles’ name even though it’s rebounding in his head like it’s the only thing he’ll ever need to know. Stiles keeps touching him through it, feather light touches up and down his shaft and it feels amazing and torturous at the same time. Derek covers Stiles’ hand with his own to still his movements, kissing Stiles when he has enough breath in his lungs to.

Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’ cock then, gratified by the moan that escapes Stiles’ throat. Stiles braces himself with a hand either side of Derek, bracketing him in, and he rolls his hips into Derek’s touch. Derek’s concentrating so much on Stiles’ cock, how good it feels in his hand, that he barely even registers Stiles speaking at first. But eventually the noise breaks through his reverie, and Stiles is babbling almost incoherently, saying every dirty thing that's coming to mind.

“I can’t wait to get my mouth on that pretty cock of yours,” Stiles moans.

“We’re in a dark car, Stiles. How do you know what my cock looks like?” Derek challenges.

Stiles makes a face at him - because unlike Stiles Derek can actually see pretty well in these conditions - and says, “Please, it’s yours, of course it’s going to be pretty.”

Derek chuckles. “How are you so coherent?” he asks, moving his hand lower.

“Guess you’ll just have to shut me up then,” he grins. Derek squeezes his balls lightly and Stiles gasps. “ _Fuck._ ” He tries to rise up as much as possible to give Derek more room but doesn’t get very far in the cramped corners of the car’s backseat, his head knocking on the roof. “Ow,” he cries, hand rubbing the top of his head.

Derek chuckles lightly, and at Stiles’ glare he presses a soothing kiss to his chest, rubbing his other hand over Stiles’ head in soothing motions as he takes away Stiles’ pain. Derek decides then that he’s going to make Stiles come in less than a minute. He returns his hand to Stiles’ shaft and ducks his head to the space where Stiles’ neck and shoulder meets, scraping his teeth along the skin before sucking down on it. Stiles is squirming above him, rocking into his hand, and Derek raises his left hand to Stiles’ chest, lightly stroking the pad of his thumb over his nipple.

Stiles is loud when he comes, and Derek wants to remind him that though it’s dark and they’re in an enclosed space they are still parked in his driveway and anyone could hear. But he doesn’t, because the sounds Stiles makes are downright delicious and Derek can feel himself getting hard again just from that.

Stiles collapses against him, arms dropping weightlessly, his whole body sinking into Derek’s. Derek doesn’t mind. He wipes his hand on his shirt and then slides it up and down Stiles’ back in soothing motions, waiting for Stiles to regain his breath.

Eventually he does, and the first thing he says is, “I love you.”

Derek smiles, even though Stiles can’t see it. “I love you too.”

“So I had a thought,” Stiles says, pulling back from where his face was buried in Derek’s neck so he can face him. “If you believe in the heteronormative bullshit of sex needing to be penetrative - and for the record I really fucking don’t - but under that reasoning we haven’t really broken your promise.”

Derek makes a thoughtful noise. He’s with Stiles on not agreeing that only penetrative sex is real sex, so it’s an interesting idea.

“Maybe we can hold off on the penetrative sex until we’re married. That way your promise stays intact.”

Derek can’t help but laugh. “Did you seriously just find a loophole in my vow of chastity?”

“Okay first of all, have you even met me? Of course I did. I thought about it as an option the day after you told me about it. And second of all, did you seriously just call it a _vow of chastity_? What’re you, a nun?”

“Well what would you call it?” Derek counters.

“I don’t know...? A decision that was totally respectable and understandable and yet lead to me being unable to get my mitts on your amazing body for far too long.”

Derek just looks at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“Am not.”

“You really are.”

“You love it.”

“I really do,” Derek says, and they both crack up laughing.

When they’ve caught their breath Derek presses his forehead to Stiles’. “Come home with me?”

Stiles nods, and Derek kisses him quickly before they separate, redressing and then climbing into the front seat. Derek starts the car and looks over to Stiles, who smiles at him in return.

Derek drives them home, and Stiles never leaves.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Even though it wasn’t included in this fic I have thoughts about how their trip to NYC goes. If people are interested I might try and write it one day...
> 
> [tumblr](http://tattooedsiren.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come say hi. :O)
> 
> The song Stiles references is [Magical Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnL9uoQGPXQ), also by Brooke Fraser, and you should go listen to it. An OTP song if ever I've heard one.


End file.
